Trials of the Heart
by Galan
Summary: What if the Captain had not been so moved by his children's singing?
1. The New Governess

Really, what _would_ have happened if the Captain had not been so unexpectedly affected by his children's singing? This will follow the movie for a while, and even to a certain extent after it strays from it. But this has bothered me for a while, so I thought I might as well entertain myself. I own nothing that you recognize, and probably nothing else.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The New Governess**

The tall man leaned over the book before him on his desk, his crisp blue eyes running along each line smoothly and quickly. His dark gray coat, tailor made, sat on his shoulders belying the honor that his service to his country had brought him, and the weight of memory that also lingered upon his frame. He could feel the heat of the afternoon air, even though the room had no doors to open to the outdoors, and the large window along the far wall was closed to the day. It seemed warmer than usual.

"Captain," the butler's voice said as he passed through the door from the hall.

"Yes, Franz," he said, not glancing up from the book on the dark surface.

"The new governess from the convent is here."

"Ah, yes, I understood she was to be here today. Thank you." Franz bowed a bit, then returned to his duties as the butler. Georg von Trapp, or Captain as he was known about the villa, stood carefully, sliding his chair back on the polished wooden floor. The book on his desk fell closed, but he was not concerned with it; he had read it several times before.

As he left his study, he pulled the door closed behind him, stepping forward as he felt the lock on the door catch. His shoes clicked on the same polished wooden floor that lay in his study, until he entered the front hall.

Where there was no one.

An old carpetbag and a black guitar case sat at the bottom of the steps that descended from the initial entrance to the villa—he could only assume those belonged to the governess, but where she was, he could not fathom. Glancing from side to side, he suppressed a growl in his throat. The door to the ballroom was ajar, and he could make a guess as to the reason.

The light that flooded the room as he threw both doors wide open confirmed his suspicion. A young woman jumped up from a ridiculous bow as the doors hit either wall, and her face was one of surprise. He did not speak, but she hurried from the room quickly, stepping backwards from him to keep her eyes trained on him once she was in the entrance hall.

"In the future," he said, drawing the doors closed behind him, his heart feeling the memories that filled that room darken as the illumination of the hall no longer gave it form, "you will kindly remember there are certain rooms in this house which are not to be disturbed."

"Yes, Captain. Sir," the young woman said, smiling a bit. Lord, but she appeared awful, in a dowdy gray dress and a burlap jacket with some ill-treated hat set atop her head. And she looked back at him with the same energy that he had gazing at her.

"Why do you stare at me that way?" he asked, stepping forward a bit. He did not like the sensation of being raked over by a pair of eyes.

"Well, you don't look at all like a sea Captain, sir," she said, her voice light and happy, and her smile remaining even as he glowered a bit.

"I'm afraid you don't look very much like a governess," he answered distastefully and making no attempt to be pleasant. The smile faded from her face a bit. _Nor a potential nun,_ he added to himself. "Turn around, please."

"What?"

"Hmm, turn." He twirled one of his fingers in the air, hoping that this apparent need for visual aides would not be indicative of her ability to discipline and instruct his children. If it was, God help her, she would not last as long as the one before her.

She spun obediently before him, glancing down a bit, confused. Perhaps—no. "Hat—off," he instructed further, and she pulled the leather _thing_ that was hard to label a hat from her head, revealing blond hair struck with perhaps the slightest tinge of red, and lovely blue eyes.

"Hmm. It's the dress," he said, his thought confirmed as he shook one of his hands. "You'll have to put on another one before you meet the children." As amusing as his children's pranks on their governesses could be, he did not want to imagine what might befall this young lady if she met the seven of them so attired.

"But I don't have another one," she said, clutching the abominable leather hat with both hands. He tried to hold his composure. A governess with only one dress. This was a thing unheard of. "When we enter the Abbey, our worldly clothes are given to the poor."

"What about this one?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at it.

"Well, the poor didn't want this one," she said. _For good reason,_ he thought, not quite able to believe if this creature before him really intended to become a nun. If she had come from the convent, then she truly must have such intentions, but though he could scarcely recall her name, he could not picture her in a habit and wimple, for she clearly had a high degree of silliness about her, given her posture in the ballroom earlier.

"Hmm," was all he said.

"Well, I would have made myself a new dress, but there wasn't time. I can make my own clothes." There she went again, with the almost saccharine cheerfulness.

"Well, I'll see that you get some material...today, if possible." He stepped away from the ballroom door at last, trying to find her name in the depths of his memory. He was sure that the Reverend Mother of Nonnberg Abbey had mentioned it in her letter, but it slipped through his remembrance. "Now, Fräulein...uh..." He snapped his fingers, trying to draw her name from his mind at first, but then beckoning for her to give it herself.

"Maria, sir," she answered, pleasant as ever.

"Fräulein Maria, I don't know how much the Mother Abbess has told you."

"Not much."

"You are the twelfth in a long line of governesses, who have come to look after my children since their mother died." He clasped his hands behind his back as the frustration of all those incompetent women filtered up through his mind. "I trust that you will be an improvement on the last one. She stayed only two hours." He didn't even want to think about her.

This young girl—that was all she was, clearly, no doubt out of her teenage years—this young girl now offered him a worried glance. "What's wrong with the children?"

He stopped to find the proper words and offered her a scornful glance. "Oh, there's nothing wrong with the children." Yes, that much was true. "Only the governesses."

"Oh," she said, not sounding convinced. Well, there was truth enough in his statement—if the women who had come to look after his children had been strong enough, he would surely still be paying the first.

"They were completely unable to maintain discipline," he continued, beginning to give her the instructions she would need. "Without it, this house cannot be properly run. You will please remember that, Fräulein."

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Every morning you will drill the children in their studies. I will not permit them to _dream_ away their summer holidays." He began to pace a bit, the familiar sensation of giving orders on his ship returning. It was a welcome feeling, one so simple and complete. "Each afternoon, they will march about the grounds, breathing deeply. Bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions..."

"Excuse me, sir, when do they play?" the young woman—Fräulein Maria, he reminded himself—said, but he spoke as though with no interruptions.

"...You will see to it that they conduct themselves at all times with the utmost orderliness and decorum. I'm placing you in command."

"Yes, sir!" Was he mad, or had she just saluted him? That smile was back on her face again, even as he stared directly at her, a glare even his children could often not endure. Yet she only raised her eyebrows, as though to inquire if she had done something wrong. _Enough of this,_ he thought. Searching in one of the pockets on the inside of his jacket, he drew out his whistle, and blew a long call on it.

There was no indication of response at this, and so he sounded it again, his eyes narrowing at the delay. With the second call, many pairs of feet on the second floor began to sound, and children clad in white sailors' uniforms emerged from their rooms, pulling the doors shut. They fell in order easily, from eldest to youngest. The young _fräulein_ had fairly run at the thundering sound, taking refuge on the opposite side of the hall beside him and clutching at a low table along the wall, as though she was afraid the floor would collapse beneath the orderly steps of his children. He could see her head bobbing up and down as she counted the children, and clearly came up one short.

_Again,_ he thought, exasperated. Between Kurt and Marta, a hole was clearly visible, wanting a child with long dark hair to fill it. She would make her appearance soon enough. Pressing the whistle to his lips again, he gave the beat for their steps, and they marched down the stairs into the hall with matching strides, their arms moving from front to back as he had taught them. Calling their halt at last, they stood proudly at attention.

Except for one. That final child had entered, from the room across from where he and the new _fräulein_ stood, her eyes fixed firmly on a book. Her face rose guiltily to meet her father's gaze, and he held out his hand for the volume. She offered it without resistance, then turned for her typical punishment: he rapped her lightly on the rear, and she took her place in line with the rest of her siblings.

He walked before them carefully, examining them with a stern eye. He straightened the collar of his younger son's uniform, and then stopped at his elder son. "Hup," he said, jerking his body upwards, and the boy's posture improved immediately.

"Now," he said, reaching that same table that this Fräulein Maria had taken to for refuge and dropping his daughter's book, "this is your new governess, Fräulein Maria." He could see the unhappy eyes of his children examining her just as her eyes had examined him just a few minutes earlier. "As I sound your signals you will step forward and give your name." Turning a bit to the _fräulein_, he added, "You, Fräulein, will listen carefully, learn their signals, so that you can call them when you want them."

Placing the whistle to his lips again, he gave seven signals, and each child stepped forward, giving his or her name. All but the last, whose signal he sounded twice, and who when she stepped forward at last, did nothing else. Fräulein Maria seemed amused. "And Gretl," he said for her, and the little girl scowled at him a bit.

Dipping his hand into one of his pockets, he offered the young woman a whistle of her own. "Now, let's see how well you listened." She seemed a bit offended by the whistle, and did not take it.

"Oh, I—I—I won't need to whistle for them, Reverend Captain." She was clearly flustered, and took a moment to look down and regain her composure. "I mean, um, I'll use their names. There such lovely names."

"Fräulein," he said, in more of a sigh that had found its way into a word, "this is a large house, the grounds are very extensive, and I will _not_ have anyone shouting. You will take this, please"—he shook it at her until her hand came up to take it reluctantly—"learn to use it. The children will help you." He at least hoped they would, and avoided looking at them to see whether his hope would be confirmed or dashed. "Now, when I want you, this is what you will hear." Beginning a new signal on the whistle, he was swiftly interrupted by this woman.

"Oh, no, sir, I'm sorry, sir!" He no longer tried to whistle over her words, dropping the instrument from his mouth as he gazed at her a bit dumbfounded. "I could never answer to a whistle," she continued, scanning him as though sizing him up once again. "Whistles are for dogs and cats and other animals, but not for children and definitely not for me. It would be too—humiliating." She almost sneered the final word.

"Fräulein," he said, letting the whistle drop enough that it hung with slack, "were you this much trouble at the Abbey?" He hardly knew why he asked, for it could hardly be possible.

"Oh, much more, sir!" she said, shaking her head emphatically. Somehow, he could find himself believing this assertion. He could almost feel the certain tension in the weeks ahead—for however long until she was driven out of her mind by the children, and for once, he hoped for his children's quick success. Done with her for the day, he allowed his whistle to hang from around his neck and was leaving, when a shrill sound came from behind him.

Turning on the ball of foot, he saw the young woman sheepishly lowered the whistle he had just given her. "Excuse me, sir," she said quietly, "I don't know your signal."

Was it possible this girl did not realize just how much trouble she was being. He could scarcely imagine a postulant—this girl, as a possible nun, the thought made him laugh—being trouble intentionally, yet he could also not see any person finding so much trouble without effort. "You may call me," he said, his words and tone chilly, "Captain." Offering her a final glance, he left the entrance hall, now harboring no doubts that the weeks ahead would be among the most aggravating in the history of his children's governesses.


	2. Talking to the Children

**Chapter 2: Talking to the Children**

As the Captain departed the room rather unpleasantly, the children smirked at one another, wondering just how long _this_ governess would last. Perhaps it would not be their tricks that sent her packing, but their father's temper. But the young lady—already in many respects different from her predecessors—turned back to them from watching their father, a bit of smile fading from her lips, and they straightened immediately from habit.

Maria surveyed these children carefully. She liked children well enough, but she had never dealt much with them, being an only child as her mother, too, died when she was young. She now found herself understanding just why the Captain seemed to have such difficulty maintaining a governess, and she wasn't too sure it had to do exclusively with either the children _or_ the governesses.

Glancing back at the children, she noticed as they snapped to attention, standing perfectly straight with their hands at their side. "At ease," she said with a bit of a sigh, and the children relaxed—or what a military man would term relaxed. They still stood with perfect posture, feet set at shoulder's width apart, their hands clasped behind their backs, rather as their father had done for a moment.

"Well," she said, brushing her hand through her hair, "now that there's just us, would you please tell me all your names again and how old you are?" The eldest began the new round of introductions, stepping forward with the precision she had learned over the past four years.

"I'm Liesl," she said stiffly, glaring down her nose at this young lady, Fräulein Maria she recalled, "I'm sixteen years old, and I don't need a governess." She stepped back with the same crispness.

"Well, I'm glad you told me, Liesl. We'll just be good friends." She walked a bit down the line to the next of her charges, the elder of the two boys in the family.

_Strange,_ Liesl thought as the governess moved away, _she's not even arguing. I doubt she'll fight back after any of our tricks, just like the rest of them._

This boy stepped forward proudly. "I'm Friedrich," he said. "I'm fourteen. I'm impossible." As he stepped back into the line, Maria laughed.

"Really? Who told you that, Friedrich?" The children were a bit puzzled, though they held back their thoughts. They had rarely seen a governess smile in their house, let alone laugh.

"Fräulein Josephine. Four governesses ago," he answered. The next child stepped forward quickly.

"I'm Brigitta," the tall blond girl said, stepping back without announcing her age. Maria had a quick smile on her face. She was fairly certain of the children's names already, but as this girl had not given her an age to go with that name, she was certain of the deception.

"You, um, didn't tell me how old you are, Louisa," she said, to the disappointment of the girl. The last child to join the line, the one mildly disciplined by her father, now came forward.

"I'm Brigitta. She's Louisa," she said, looking down the line to her sister. "She's thirteen years old, and you're smart." The girl smiled at her as well, and Maria felt a bit of her nervousness flush away. "I'm ten, and I think your dress is the ugliest one I ever saw." _Never mind,_ Maria thought.

As the young, dark-haired girl joined the line, her brother with chubby cheeks turned to her, and said, as though scolding her, "Brigitta, you shouldn't say that."

"Why not?" she asked. "Don't you think it's ugly?"

"Of course," he answered. _At least they're honest,_ Maria thought. "But Fräulein Helga's was ugliest." _Perhaps a little _too _honest._ The boy came forward. "I'm Kurt. I'm eleven. I'm incorrigible." His statement finished, he stepped back.

"Congratulations," she said with a smile for him.

"What's 'incorrigible'?" he asked, and she turned back to him.

"I think it means you want to be treated like a boy," Maria said, to a smile from Kurt. Clearly, he didn't know what the word meant, and she wasn't too certain herself—but it was clearly not a compliment. She didn't feel like maligning all their previous governesses quite yet.

The next girl came forth not as the others did, but to clutch at her shirt sleeve and pull her attention down to her. Her hair was dark as Brigitta's, but cut short and worn in braids on either side of her face. She had a small button nose, and spoke with a quiet voice. "I'm Marta," she said to Maria, "and I'm going to be seven on Tuesday, and I'd like a pink parasol."

"Well, pink's my favorite color, too," Maria said, pleased that at least one of these children didn't seem determined to frighten her away on her first day. Moving along to the final child, she did not step forward at all, but merely stamped her foot. "Yes, you're Gretl," Maria said. If nothing else could prove it, this child was the proof that the Captain's attempts to—_militarize_ the household were most likely to be ill-fated.

The child held up her hand, all fingers and thumb held out. "And you're five years old? My, you're practically a lady." The child giggled at that remark, and once again, that nervousness began to fade. If the youngest two were any indication, these children could be quite sweet, if only she could push aside their inclination to play tricks on her. Glancing away from Gretl, she took in the line of children once again, still standing proud and at ease.

"Now, I have to tell you a secret," she said, hoping that her confession would not spark a barrage of pranks on her already, "I've never been a governess before." Maria almost cringed as the children glanced from one to another, mischief sparkling in their clear eyes. She could read their expressions easily: _This is going to be too simple!_

"You mean you don't know anything about being a governess?" Louisa asked, a bit incredulous at the pronouncement, but eager for its confirmation.

"Nothing," Maria said, shrugging her shoulders and arms in resignation. "I'll need lots of advice."

"Well," the girl said, stepping out of the line with a bit of a swagger in her stride, "the best way to start is to be sure to tell father to mind his own business." The rest followed her lead, both in words and motion.

"You must never come to dinner on time," Friedrich confided, and in her own mind, Maria answered, _I probably would not have made it anyway._

"Never eat your soup quietly," Brigitta added cheerfully, and Friedrich provided a slurping sound that made Maria recoil from him. She did not get very far, as the children had tightly surrounded her.

"And, during dessert, always blow your nose," Kurt threw in, and the children came even closer; she had to raise her arms to avoid their being pinned to her side.

"Don't believe a word they say, Fräulein Maria!" Gretl said, looking up from her short height.

"Oh, why not?" Maria asked, glancing down to the youngest child through the tangle of her arms.

"Because I like you!" From the pleasant look on the child's face, it seemed she might just be speaking truthfully. She found herself smiling at the girl as well, while the older children came even closer to her, uncomfortably close.

Maria heard hands clapping, and her face, along with the children's, snapped away away to an older woman with gray hair set atop her head, clad in a gray dress with a black apron tied about her waist. "All right now, children. Outside for your walk. Father's order. Now hurry up. Hurry up. Quick, quick, quick, quick, quick." As she shooed them up the steps, one glance at the children's faces made it clear that a walk was not on their minds as they climbed the steps to the door.

"Uh, Fräulein Maria," the woman said to Maria, who nodded her head fiercely. "I'm Frau Schmidt, the housekeeper."

"How do you do?" Maria asked offering the older woman her hand, glad to have found someone pleasant in the household. It seemed this lady was the only one, when compared to the butler, the Captain, and the children.

"How do you do?" Frau Schmidt took Maria's hand warmly. "I'll show you to your room. Follow me." She bent to take Maria's carpetbag, and Maria took her guitar case herself.

Speaking somewhat to herself, but loud enough for the housekeeper to hear, Maria said, "Poor little dears." And no matter what they would do to her, she felt she would pity them, as alone as they were. They had already lost their mother, and their father was completely closed from them.

Taking a few steps up the right-hand staircase of the house, Maria sensed _something_ twitching heavily in her pocket. "What?" she screamed, dropping her guitar as she thrust her hand into her pocket, pulling out that something that wriggled in her hand. "Ah! Ah! Aah! Oh! Ohh—"

A large frog dropped from her hands on to the tiled floor by the children's feet. And examining the expressions upon the children's faces, this was no surprise to them.

"You're very lucky," Frau Schmidt said cautiously. "With Fräulein Helga it was a snake."

"Ugh," was all that escaped Maria's throat as the children turned from her with unhappy glares to commence with their walk. Retrieving her guitar case, she turned and trotted up the stairs after the housekeeper. "So," she said, catching the housekeeper's confident stride, "they do this often?"

"To most of their governesses, yes," the woman said, leading Maria a bit of a way down the hall. "I've come to think that this must be their favorite way of greeting the women, and it gives them a standard against which to measure anything else they might consider doing."

"Anything _else,_" Maria said a bit disbelieving as Frau Schmidt opened the door to her room.

"Yes, my dear. Unfortunately, I think you've just seen the tip of the iceberg when it comes to these children." Walking in to the room always set aside for the governess, Frau Schmidt set Maria's carpetbag on her bed. "The Captain wishes me to tell you that dinner is at eight, without exception, and he expects punctuality."

"Oh, I doubt he'll get that," Maria said, setting her guitar beside the bag. "I could hardly make it to anything on time at the abbey, and that was even with the stare of Sister Berthe to work with."

"Sister Berthe?" Frau Schmidt asked, not sure that any nun could be as stern as the Captain.

"The Mistress of Novices at Nonnberg Abbey," Maria said, filling in the woman's ignorance. "She's quite convinced that I should have been turned away from even becoming a postulant, and whenever we have a disagreement, she always comes off the victor and insists I kiss the floor before either of us leaves. I quite think that the entire floor of the abbey has been cleaned by my lips."

"Well," the housekeeper said, "it seems you've at least had some experience dealing with individuals after the Captain's own heart. As I said, dinner is at eight. The children will be in from the walk in perhaps an hour, and today, the Captain has decided that you be given time to settle in to your room."

"Oh, I really don't need that," Maria said to a surprised look from Frau Schmidt.

"You wish to spend the afternoon with the children, after the frog they left in your pocket? My dear, give them some time to at least become acquainted with the idea of you as their governess. I don't think we would want to see you after spending this afternoon with them."

"All right, then. Thank you for your help, Frau Schmidt," Maria said, shaking the older woman's hand again.

"You're quite welcome," Frau Schmidt said, leaving Maria's room and closing the door behind her. Taking the welcome peace and quiet, Maria collapsed on her bed, thinking afterwards, it might have been wise to check beneath the sheets and cover for any nasty specimen of nature the children might have planted.

But speaking of the children...She would not allow them to think that she would be a pushover, that she would let them play whatever tricks upon her that they wished without concern for what she would do. As her eyelids drooped, she found a bit of an idea, and it swirled about in her head as she drifted to sleep and dreams.


	3. Dinnertime Entertainment

**Chapter 3: Dinnertime Entertainment**

She was waiting for the sound of church bells to wake her, she had become so accustomed to their pealing drawing her from slumber to announce the evening meal. When Maria finally woke to darkness, she resisted the urge to roll over and sleep once more. Instead, she put on the lamp beside her bed and glanced to the clock that sat on her bedside table, and felt the calm that had come over her while she slept vanish into the air. The hands read twenty past eight, and that meant she was late. At the abbey, a twenty minute delay would have been considered early for her, but she remembered she was not at the abbey any longer and set to preparing herself for the meal.

Jumping up from bed, Maria tossed aside her leather hat and burlap jacket and smoothed the dark gray of her dress. She tried pressed her hair down, for once missing the wimple that would have easily hidden her locks. She didn't even want to think about what her face must look like, so she crossed to the bathroom.

Her hand on the doorknob, Maria stopped. After those children had slipped that frog into her pocket, with her completely unaware, she did not put anything past them. Turning the handle, she pushed the door in quickly and leapt back to avoid being caught in any trap. But nothing snapped at her heels or fell from the door frame, so she entered and quickly splashed some water on her face, desperate to wipe away any sign of the sleep still clinging to her frame.

Drying her face with a towel, she straightened her crucifix on the chain around her neck, clicked off the lamp in her room, and fairly dashed down the stairs to the dinner table, hoping to arrive without much spectacle. Even though the Captain, who sat at the head of the table, had his back to her, she could tell from his stance that he was irritated. Her seat was empty at the foot of the table, and on either side, the children sat, now well-dressed in their evening attire.

"Good evening," she said as she walked toward her seat, just out of her eye seeing that the Captain was drumming his fingers impatiently. "Good evening, children." As they were dressed now, they looked rather different from the children who just a few hours ago had left a frog in her pocket.

"Good evening, Fräulein Maria," the children chanted. Now, they even sounded pleasant. Almost innocent. Pulling her chair out from the table, she began to sit down.

"Whaaaah ha ha ha!" she shrieked, jumping up once again, trying to neither grasp at the stinging pain on her rear nor glare too strongly at the children, who wore amused grins. Glancing down, she now saw the pine cone strategically placed on her chair.

"Enchanting little ritual," a deep, amused voice said. Maria looked up to see the Captain unfolding his napkin at the opposite end of the table, appearing confused. "Something you, uh, learned at the abbey?"

The Captain was perfectly accustomed to seeing the governess of his children leap from her chair on her first evening in the house. It was a favorite trick of the children, just as dropping some sort of living, nasty creature in her pocket was a typical introduction. While the pain that it caused the governess was entertainment for his children, he more enjoyed watching the ladies explain away their sudden fear of sitting down.

"No, it's, um, er...um..." Maria was at a loss for words, and she was not known for being an excellent liar, for which she supposed she should be grateful; it was an incentive to avoid lying. But she still flung her mind around for a reason as she patted her rump, feeling the stinging begin to fade. "...rheumatism," she said at last as she sat down, sliding the pine cone out of the way.

Around her, the family set their napkins in their laps and took up their silverware, beginning to eat. The children were rather surprised that she did not throw a fit about the pine cone, seeing how she reacted to the frog. The Captain, too, was shocked, hearing a lie, if not a well-spoken one, leave the lips of a future nun. Perhaps there was more to this girl than he had thought before.

"Excuse me, Captain," her voice came again, "but haven't we forgotten to thank the Lord?" One oath after another rang through his mind as she said that, and old memories surfaced, burning as painfully as those that had come with that momentary entrance into the ballroom. Memories of Agathe, as she prayed before dinner every night, taught the children their first prayers. Curse this woman, this _postulant_, could she not see that they did things in a way that might not have been hers? But he found it best not to protest, and he swallowed his bite of dinner and pride, set down his fork, and folded his hands. He would not, though, close his eyes and bow his head as this girl did. She would not command him in his own house!

The children, though did as their governess did, folding their hands, bowing their heads, and closing their eyes. "For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen."

"Amen," the Captain said, grateful that she had at least kept the prayer quick. He could not, though, hide the glare in his eyes that belied his anger at her interruption.

"Amen," the children chorused, and they resumed their eating. This governess, Fräulein Maria, set her napkin in her lap and took her fork as she glanced around at the children eating, without a thought of conversation on their minds.

"I'd like to thank each and every one of you for the precious gift you left in my pocket earlier today," she said suddenly, to gloomy looks from the children. The Captain merely looked up from his plate, curious as to just what slimy denizen of the earth his children had managed to sneak into her jacket. If he had not known them better, he would have thought she was offering them a compliment.

"Um, what gift?" he asked, his irritation rising. He could see her apprising the looks that came across the children's faces, Liesl and Kurt's specifically.

"It's meant to be a secret, Captain, between the children and me."

_Ah,_ he thought, _so she will keep their confidences._ Already she seemed an improvement on any before her. "Uh huh," he said aloud. "Then I suggest that you keep it and let us eat." Silence fell for a moment, then her voice came again.

"Knowing how nervous I must have been," she said, as if she did not feel the awkwardness wanting for silence around her as she cut her meat nonchalantly, "a stranger in a new household, knowing how important it was for me to feel accepted"—the looks of guilt beginning to come across the faces of Marta, Gretl, and even Louisa were beginning to shock him—"it was so kind and thoughtful of you to make my first moments here so warm and happy and"—she had a final, falsely grateful expression for every one of the children—"pleasant."

She glanced to him smiling happily, and he pulled his lips upwards in a smile, determined to hold his irritation in check. It would do no good to lose his temper with her this soon in her employment. That smile was an expression his children knew was false, and when on his ship, his men had come to walk carefully about it.

Seated immediately at his left hand, Marta began to cry, rubbing one of her eyes with a hand to try to stop them. "What is the matter, Marta?" he asked, unable to completely hold his frustration at the abundance of annoyances at the dinner table this evening.

"Nothing," she said, even as her sobs grew. On the other side of the table, Brigitta, too, began to cry, quickly followed by Gretl and Louisa. Among the others, Liesl did not cry, though she looked rather guilty, and the two boys were trying to manage their regret in another way.

He would hardly have guessed that these were his children, apparently repentant to the point of weeping over some harmless tricks they had played on their governess. And these, they _were_ harmless, as compared with some they had done in the past. And this young lady, with no experience as a governess, had found and exploited their guilt without even saying a specific word as to their crime.

"Uh, Fräulein," he said, wiping his lips with his napkin as he found a desperate smile on his face, as though to plead with her to find some way to silence this disturbance, "is it to be at every meal or merely at, uh, dinnertime that you intend leading us all through this rare and wonderful new world of"—he paused to find the right word—"indigestion?"

"Oh, they're all right, Captain," she said with complete sincerity. "They're just happy." The children wailed even louder at that remark, while the Captain merely dropped his napkin, grabbed his fork once more, and then continued with his eating. If they wanted to cry the whole way through dinner, then he would let them!

The sobbing continued for a few more minutes, the two older girls drying their eyes at last, as though having worked through their tears, and the two younger girls began to eat again while they still cried silently. The Captain could not recall a more—_interesting_ evening at the dinner table in a good long while. The _fräulein,_ seemingly satisfied that she had inflicted her deserved punishment—he could not deny her that it was deserved—and had fallen silent, eating the remainder of her dinner and allowing them peace.

Their plates were cleared away by maids and replaced with small slices of cake and scoops of ice cream, an unusual treat for Maria, who had moved from living on a farm with few available luxuries to living in a convent, where any that were available were immediately spurned. The Captain was eating carefully, awaiting some comment upon the dessert from this _fräulein_, and was already glowering at her at the inevitable disruption of the end of his meal. But she ate without saying a word, and the first interruption came from Franz.

"A telegram for you, sir," the butler said, giving his master the newly delivered cable. As the Captain unfolded the paper, Maria could not help but see Liesl's sudden excitement, as though she had been given a treat as rare as cake and ice cream were to Maria.

With a look to the window, she asked, "Franz, who delivered it?"

"That young lad, Rolfe," he said, eyeing her strangely for a moment before he left the dining room. Her joy was plainly evident to Maria; even if she had never fallen in love before, she could easily tell when a girl was smitten.

"Father, may I be excused?" the girl asked, and Maria knew something was different about her face. No longer sullen, it was hopeful, only to return to its darker expression as her father's wordless response clearly forbade her departure.

The Captain considered the cable momentarily. As much as he enjoyed visiting certain inmates of Vienna, he could hardly stand the atmosphere. But, it was a kind request, and it would give this new governess time to discipline her charges. "Children, in the morning, I shall be going to Vienna."

The outrage from the children surprised both Maria and the Captain; Maria was not sure who was more surprised, herself that the children wanted their father about so dearly when he would only order them about coldly, or the Captain at the sudden cacophony at his table. The protests ranged from mere groans to statements of "Oh, no, Father!" and "Not again, Father." At another glare, they fell quiet.

"How long will you be gone this time, Father?" Gretl asked, not worrying about a reprimand from her father. From the Captain's right hand side, Liesl stood to fill her water glass, crossing behind her father to a table at the entrance to the room.

"I'm not sure, Gretl. I'm not sure," he answered, reaching for his own glass. He knew what Liesl was planning to do; did she really think he didn't see her?

"To visit Baroness Schräder again?" Louisa asked, not pleased at the prospect.

"Mind your own business!" Friedrich snapped.

"As a matter of fact, yes, Louisa," the Captain said.

"Why can't we ever get to see the Baroness?" Marta asked.

"Why would she want to see you?" Kurt asked. Maria could not help but smile. Now _this_ is what she would picture dinner as with a family of seven children. _Well,_ she amended, _eight. In many ways, the Captain is a child in his own right._

"It just so happens, Marta, that you are going to see the Baroness. I'm bringing her back with me to visit us all." Lifting his glass, he listened carefully for Liesl's footsteps, waiting to hear her leave the room.

"Good," the children chimed and with the cover of sound not enough, the Captain heard Liesl's quiet steps leaving the room. _Very well, then,_ he decided, _we'll see how this gets explained._

"And," he continued, pausing for a sip of his wine as he rolled his eyes awaiting the sudden joy to come, "Uncle Max."

"Uncle Max!" the children exclaimed to one another, once more losing all sense of themselves. As he folded the telegram and slipped it into his pocket, he feared a change for the worse in his house.

"Excuse me, Captain," the young _fräulein_ began with a curious look in her eye, "who is 'Uncle Max'?"

"An old friend of mine that lives in Vienna," the Captain said as he drained his glass and stood from the table. "He models himself as a molder of talent, or as I prefer to say, an exploiter thereof. He's always on the look-out for a new group that needs an agent, which he will more than happily be. Now, Fräulein, that this interesting exploration of alternate dining procedures has been explored and concluded, it is time my children went to bed."

"Very well, Captain," Maria said quietly as she stood as well. "Children, say good night to your father."

"Good night, Father," the six children chorused glumly, knowing they would not see their father the next morning. The governess came up behind them, scooting the herd out of the dining room and up the stairs to their rooms, following to help them.

The Captain loitered in the dining room for a bit, drinking in the quiet that had suddenly fallen, the quiet that hitherto had been typical of his meals. It had been almost an adventure, almost pleasant to hear voices chattering, even if they were often cut off by his anger, even if those voices were filled with the bantering words of brothers and sisters.

He shook his head quickly, and went to find Franz. "Lock the doors," he instructed as soon as he found the butler, who cocked his head. "Yes, I know it's early," the Captain said, discounting the strange expression, "but please do so. Lock all of them, and the windows."

Franz didn't bother to argue, for the Captain seemed certain of what he wanted. "Yes, Captain," he said with a nod, then trotted off to see to the doors and windows.


	4. The First Storm

**Chapter 4: The First Storm**

"Now come on," Maria said, lifting Gretl up on to her mattress, "you need to get some sleep." Settling the child into the pillows, she tugged the sheets and blankets up and tucked them around the tiny body. "Can I count on you to be a good girl and say your prayers without my watching you?" Maria asked, lacing her question with an earnest yearning for an affirmative answer.

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," the little girl responded with a smile.

"I'm happy to hear that," Maria said, leaning down to kiss the girl. "Now I've got to go see to your brothers and sisters." Marta, who shared a room with little Gretl, was already in bed, her prayers heard murmured by Maria's sharp ear, and her breathing slowed to the sound of easy and restful sleep already. Clicking off the lamp that sat on the table by their door, she drew the door shut behind her and moved along to Friedrich and Kurt's room.

"Are you two all right in there?" she called before she knocked on the door.

"Yes," came a muffled reply. It seemed silenced by more than the door, so Maria swung it open to glance inside. The boys were in the middle of a bit of rough-housing, Friedrich besting Kurt easily. It had been Kurt's voice that had answered, most likely necessitated by his brother's fist on his back, and she could see where the muffling had come from: his face being pressed into the carpet.

"Really, Friedrich," she said, and the older boy released his brother. "I would think you two were old enough to not engage in fights so wantonly."

"He started it," Friedrich began, but he fell silent at Maria's gaze. After dinner that night, each one of the children had felt their respect for Maria rise drastically. She was clearly far more clever than their previous governesses, and it seemed she enjoyed playing tricks as much as they did, seeing as the only punishment they had endured at her hand had been the one they put upon themselves.

"That wasn't very fair," Kurt said as he stood, brushing himself off, "tonight at dinner."

"Well," Maria said, assured that both boys were still breathing and whole, "one would also say that seven children ganging up on one inexperienced governess is hardly fair, either." Both boys grinned sheepishly, and neither denied that they deserved the punishment they had taken at the table. "Be sure to say your prayers, and go _straight_ to bed, with no more fights!"

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," they said together. Obediently, each boy went to his bed and knelt for his prayers. Reasonably certain of their sincerity, Maria closed that door and moved to the final room, the largest, that was shared by Liesl, Louisa, and Brigitta. Knocking lightly, she heard Louisa's voice call, "Come in."

Maria opened the door carefully, checking to see that no sort of nasty creature was about to fall from _this_ door frame; she still felt lucky about having nothing in her bathroom. Letting the door swing farther open, she could see Louisa looking out the window, where over the lake a thunderhead was gathering. Brigitta was already in bed, buried in the same book her father had taken from her earlier that afternoon.

"That book must be quite good, Brigitta," Maria said as she walked in, noting the conspicuous absence of the eldest child.

"Oh, yes," the girl said, hardly glancing up from the pages. "It's wonderful, about a house in the United States, and all the history associated with it, and—"

"You'd better learn to be careful, Fräulein Maria," Louisa said, turning from the window, scowling. "If you let her get going on her books, she'll talk your ears off, and then she might keep on going until she bores you to death."

"It's not boring!" Brigitta snapped, letting the book fall to her lap. "It's lovely and—"

"Girls," Maria said kindly but sternly, "don't argue now about such things; it's not important. Anyway, Brigitta, it's time for you to be going to bed, so mark your page and continue it tomorrow." Sighing, Brigitta found the thin piece of paper she always used as a bookmark and put it between the pages. She set it gently on her night table, then clamored beneath her sheets.

"You, too, Louisa," Maria said to the older girl. She scowled again, but did not argue and climbed into bed. "Be sure you say your prayers, girls. Good night."

"Good night, Fräulein Maria," they chanted together as she turned off the lights in the room and closed the door. Maria had no doubts that Louisa would soon be at the window, carefully observing that approaching thunderstorm and Brigitta would quickly be scampering for her book and light, but that was not what concerned her. The fact that Liesl was still missing, _that_ concerned her. And with—

There it was, the first crash of thunder as rain began to pour down on the house. And Liesl was somewhere out in it. That, she was worried about. The breaking storm made her shudder for the warmth of her bed and she felt she nearly leapt across the small landing that separated the two sets of stairs from one another.

She had no fears about her room this time, having already seen that nothing appeared to be hiding within it, and knowing the children had no time in which to set additional traps. Closing the door firmly behind her, she turned the lamp on and quickly changed out of her dress. The Captain was right, it was rather hideous. But it was the only one she had, until she made a new one. That would not take her too long, yet more importantly, she wanted to do something for the children, make them things they could run around in, get dirty in. That could hardly be done in the uniforms they wore during the day and the lovely clothes they wore in the evening. She shook her head as she pulled her long white nightgown over her head, tousling her hair.

Her window began to swing back and forth, banging with a metallic edge, and she rushed over to close it. This night was no night for open windows. As she pulled it closed, a hand knocked on her door. "Come in," she said as she turned back from the window, grabbing for her robe. "Frau Schmidt..." she said, uncertain of the woman's presence as she slid her arms into her robe. The elderly housekeeper entered, carrying two entire bolts of cloth, and a smaller bundle of cloth beneath them.

"For your new dresses, Fräulein Maria. The Captain had these sent out from town," she said, handing the cloth to Maria. She turned them over in her hands, smiling; it was very fine cloth, better than she'd ever worked with, let alone worn herself.

"Oh, how lovely. Oh, I'm sure these will make the prettiest clothes I've ever had." Her wish suddenly entered her head, and she turned the bolts nervously in her hands. "Tell me, do you think the Captain would get me some more material if I asked him?" She wished she hadn't asked, with the expression that covered Frau Schmidt's face.

"How many dresses does a governess need?" she asked, regarding Maria in a different light.

"No, not for me. For the children. I want to make them some play clothes," Maria said as she set the cloth on a table.

The housekeeper tried not to shake her head as she crossed to the window Maria had just shut and opened it to the growing storm. "The Von Trapp children don't play. They march."

"Oh, surely you don't approve of that?" Maria asked, unable to believe that any person could truly believe that children should be made to march as though they were soldiers of the Austrian Army.

"Ever since the Captain lost his poor wife, he—he runs this house as if he were on one of his ships again. Whistles, orders. No more music, no more laughing. Nothing that reminds him of her...even the children." Frau Schmidt could remember just how happy the home had been with Baroness von Trapp, and still cut her deeply to see the house so transformed.

"It's so wrong," Maria said clutching the brass knobs on her bed frame.

"Ah, well..." the older woman said. There was nothing for it now. "How do you like your room?" Maria nodded in approval; it was much nicer than her room at the abbey. "There'll be new drapes at the windows..."

"New drapes? But these are fine," Maria protested.

"Nevertheless, new ones have been ordered."

"Oh, but I really don't need them," she tried again, but the housekeeper was of no mind to listen. She wanted to be in bed herself, tucked away from the pounding storm.

"Good night, now."

"Frau Schmidt," Maria said quickly, not willing to lose the woman quite yet. "Do you think if I ask the Captain tomorrow about the material...?"

"Oh, he's leaving for Vienna in the morning," Frau Schmidt reminded her, almost smiling at this young girl's flighty mind. It _would_ be a good change for the Captain, having to put up with a person unwilling to follow some of his rules, and apparently unable to follow others.

"Oh, yes, of course." Maria hid her disappointment well. She could wait until he turned to ask about play clothes. "Well, how long will he be gone?"

"That all depends. The last time he visited the Baroness he stayed for a month."

"Oh." Frau Schmidt could see the governess was surprised.

"I shouldn't be saying this," she began, trying to find the proper words, "not to you, I mean I don't know you that well—but if you ask me, the Captain's thinking very seriously of marrying the woman before the summer's over."

"Oh, that'd be wonderful!" Maria exclaimed, sincerely delighted at the possibility. "Well, the children will have a mother again." Frau Schmidt could only smile; clearly this girl did not know the reputation of Baroness Schräder.

"Yes...well..." She tried to smile at Maria's enthusiasm. "Good night."

"Good night," Maria said, closing the door as the housekeeper left. Peeling her robe away from her nightgown, she dropped it on a chair, then knelt at her bedside, pausing long enough to make the sign of the cross. She cringed a bit as another rumble of thunder sounded over the grounds.

"Dear Father, _now_ I know why You've sent me here. To help these children prepare themselves for a new mother." It would be so good for the children to have a mother. "And I pray that this will become a happy family in Thy sight. God bless the Captain, God bless Liesl and Friedrich, God bless Louisa, Brigitta, Marta and little Gretl. And, oh, I forgot the other boy. What's his name? Well, God bless What's-his-name."

She heard a bit of noise behind her, but remembered that the windows in her room were still open: one she had not attended to, and the other Frau Schmidt had opened again. But she continued with her prayer. "God bless the Reverend Mother, Sister Margaretta..." At the edge of her vision, she could just discern Liesl crossing the room from the window, drenched with dirt smeared over her lovely white dress, hoping that she would not be seen. _That must have been the noise_, Maria thought. "...and everybody at Nonnberg Abbey," she continued, an idea forming in her mind. "And now, dear God, about Liesl."

The girl stopped as though frigid water had been poured over her head—again. "Help her to know that I'm her friend, and help her to tell me what she's been up to."

"Are you going to tell on me?" the girl asked quickly, but Maria shushed her.

"Help me to be understanding so that I may guide her footsteps. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." Her prayer finished, she looked at the girl, who looked like a cat pulled from a lake, just as wretched and frightened.

"I was out taking a walk and somebody locked the doors earlier than usual and I didn't want to wake everybody up. So, when I saw your window open—" Liesl didn't bother with any more of her lie; she could read faces quite well, and Fräulein Maria clearly did not believe her. "You're not going to tell Father, are you?" That expression was also sympathetic.

Letting out a noncommittal sigh, Maria stood from her bed, then glanced out the window. "How in the world did you climb up here?" she asked, amazed at the distance to the ground.

"That's how we always got into this room to play tricks on the governess," Liesl answered with pure honesty. "Louisa can make it with a whole jar of spiders in her hand."

The window did not close but was slammed by Maria's suddenly frightened hand. "Spiders!?" she exclaimed to Liesl's smiling, nodding face. Maria just shook her head. "Liesl, were you out walking all by yourself?"

The girl nodded for a bit, but that same expression on Fräulein Maria's face said it was no use to lie. She shook her head drearily. "You know," Maria said, not eager to get the girl in trouble and destroy any chance of earning her trust, "if we wash that dress out tonight, nobody would notice it tomorrow." Liesl's face brightened at the prospect of not being found out. "You could put this on." Walking around her bed to the wardrobe, Maria pulled out a nightgown and handed it to her.

As she opened the door to Fräulein Maria's bathroom, the nightgown in her hand, Liesl stopped for a moment. "I told you today I didn't need a governess. Well, maybe I do." She shrugged her shoulders sheepishly with bit of a grin, and Maria smiled at her. The door closed and Maria turned back to her bed.

_Spiders?_ she wondered to herself as she set her hands akimbo. As much as she didn't think the children had had enough time to fill her room with unpleasant things, she wasn't about to take that chance. Curling her fingers beneath the comforter, she thrust it back—to see clean sheets, free of spiders. Letting the bottom half fall back, she checked under the top half as another clap of thunder rattled the windows of the villa.

Her door burst open as suddenly as Liesl had come in through the window, revealing a trembling Gretl. "Gretl? Are you scared?" she asked, seeing the question already answered in the child's terrified eyes. The little girl shook her head as another rumble of thunder rang out, then ran to clutch Maria's waist. "You're not frightened of a thunderstorm, are you? You just stay right here with me." She sat on her bed and pulled Gretl up with her, amazed that such a small child weighed so much. "Oh! Where are the others?"

"They're asleep," Gretl said, looking up long enough to speak. "They're not scared." Another clap saw Gretl's face hidden in Maria's nightgown, and Louisa, Brigitta, and Marta at the door as panicked as Gretl.

"Oh, no?" Maria said, softening a bit at the children. "Look." Gretl glanced up to see the frightened faces of her sisters. Maria understood the fear; thunderstorms of this magnitude were not common near Salzburg. "All right, everybody. Up here on the bed." She patted the comforter as an invitation.

"Really?" Brigitta said as the girls moved slowly toward the bed frame, not quite sure what to make of this, but happy all the same.

"Well, just this once. Come on," Maria implored, and the girls jumped on to the mattress as another clap of thunder echoed. "Now, all we have to do is to wait for the boys."


	5. The Second Storm

**Chapter 5: The Second Storm**

He could hear the muffled footsteps with ease from his study, the pattering of his children's feet as they tried to be silent in their fear. First had gone little Gretl, the lightest and quickest of them all, swiftly followed by three sets of feet, no doubt his the rest of daughters. And now, he heard two heavier individuals passing, his sons he figured. Which made six children in the governess's room. One was still missing.

He knew it to be Liesl, but not because she was too old to be scared by the storm. She had left the dining room—inconspicuously, she thought—and he believed he knew where she had gone. Her eyes when Franz had confirmed that his telegram had been delivered by Rolfe—she was clearly taken with the boy. Well, she would have a jolly good time explaining herself when she finally rang the bell to be allowed back in after she discovered every accessible door and window locked. He looked forward to her trying to offer a reason for her being drenched.

He set his eyes on his book again, that same one he had been reading when Franz had announced the new _fräulein's_ arrival. He often read late at night, when silence was assured in the household; regardless of discipline, there was always noise where seven children were concerned.

But tonight—from somewhere directly above him, feet were continually moving, and small snatches of song were filtering down the stairwell. _That cursed governess again!_ he swore inwardly. With the storm that had brewed for the past several hours outside, he could forgive his children's fear and their running to Fräulein Maria, but this noise and merrymaking so late, he could not.

He began to drum his fingers on his desk, waiting tensely for silence to fall again. It did not, the noise—the distraction—the irritation only grew, swelling even louder. And his fingers, he found, were tapping to that irritating sound—that music. A few more seconds, he decided, if it did not fade in a few more seconds, he would go ensure its silence.

It grew louder yet again, as though his children had joined with their immature governess. "Very well, Fräulein," he said, "if you insist that I silence you..." Rising from his desk, he left the room for the entrance hall, where the music echoed and he could pick out the laughing voices of his children. With each step he ascended, the voices grew louder, pounding on his skull as though determined to be his aggravation for the evening. A meter or so from the governess's room, he could at last hear the words clearly.

"Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes," the young woman was singing, "snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes." Stepping closer, he could peer through the crack in her door and see her dancing in a circle with his daughters—his smiling daughters. "Silver white winters that melt into springs, these are a few of my favorite things!"

His patience had been exhausted. His children had clearly been comforted, and now they were cavorting about as though it was midday rather than night. He thrust the door open, his children seeing him immediately, and the matching glare on his face. The _fräulein_, though, did not see him, and spun about another time, beginning another portion of her song. "When the dog bi—" she began, cutting herself off as she spun nearly into him. "...dog bites...uh..." she said uncertainly.

The children were already in their line, standing straight and proper as though this was where he expected them to be. More to his amazement, Liesl was among them—her hair plastered to her neck, and dressed in a nightgown that was not hers, he assumed it to be the _fräulein's, _but there nonetheless.

"Uh, hello..." the woman was saying, uncertain but cheerful, as though not sure if words or silence would be worse, but determined to make the best of the situation.

His eyes raked over his children. "Fräulein, did I not tell you that bedtime is to be strictly observed in this house?" he asked, now letting his disapproving grimace fall on her.

"Well, the children were upset by the storm, so I thought that if I..." she began to protest. She did not continue as he still glared at her. "You did, sir."

"And do you or do you not have difficulty remembering such simple instructions?" He didn't know which answer he would prefer to hear, that she could not remember such directions or that she had simply disregarded them.

"Only during thunderstorms, sir," she replied after a moment. Kurt laughed, and the Captain was unable to decide just who he more wished to fix with an angry look.

"Liesl?" he snapped, giving himself time to think. His daughter's eyes turned to him quickly as she started slightly.

"Yes, Father?" she asked timidly, knowing the interrogation about to come.

"I don't recall seeing you anywhere after dinner." Oh, he knew _where_ she had been: she had been outside, with the young Rolfe that had given Franz the telegram. His curiosity lay in just how she had reentered the house.

"Oh, really?" She lied about as well as her _fräulein,_ he decided. "Well, as a matter of fact," she began.

"Yes?" he offered, wondering just what sort of tale he was about to hear.

"Well, I—I was, I was..." Her mind began to fail her and she became desperate.

"Uh, what she would like to say, Captain," Maria's voice cut in, her hands curling around one of the brass knobs of her bed post, "is that, uh, she and I have been getting better acquainted tonight." Liesl nodded vigorously at this pronouncement, her lips twisted into a small, relieved smile that bore the existence of her _fräulein's_ lie.

"But it's much too late now to go into all that," she continued, eager to end the scene though the tension was finally easing. "Come along children. You heard your father. Go back to bed immediately." She clapped her hands impatiently and the children began to slouch away to their own rooms. While they left through the door, the Captain remained, and Maria tried not to let her cheeks flush as she remembered she was wearing only her nightgown. Her hand darted quickly to the chair at her side and she clutched her robe in front of her.

"Fräulein," he said, eyeing her carefully now that they were alone, "you have managed to remember that I'm leaving in the morning?" Maria nodded emphatically, wondering where this was to go. "Is it also possible that you remember that the first rule in this house is discipline?" At this she nodded reluctantly. "Then I trust that before I return, _you_ will have acquired some?" He turned to leave himself.

"Captain?" Maria said rather boldly, remembering her conversation with Frau Schmidt. She did not want to miss this opportunity to intercede on the children's behalf. But the closer she came to him, the more she remembered herself. "Uh, I wonder if, before you go, I could talk to you about some clothes for the children..."

The Captain sighed. "Fräulein Maria," he managed before she began again.

"...for when they play. If I could just have some material—" He stopped her again.

"You are obviously many things," he said, dropping his hand to the door knob, "not the least of which is repetitious."

"But they're children!" she implored, running up to him, trying to make him understand. _How can he not understand?_ she wondered to herself. _How does he not see that this is killing them?_

"Yes," he answered gruffly. "And I am their father. Good night." He pulled the door closed quickly, slamming it, really, and he thought he heard a cry of anger from the now contained room.

"Well, let her be angry," he said to himself as he walked down the stairs to return to his study. "At least now, the shrill sound of her anger will just bounce off those walls and annoy only _her_."

* * *

An hour perhaps had gone by; Maria had removed her green and white flowered drapes, carefully measuring the length and width of each one, pleased to see that she had plenty to work with, if she was careful. "Remember," she had said to herself, "when the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window." The Captain, his anger spent, had returned to reading in his study for a bit, then retired to bed himself, preparing for an early start in the morning. The house staff had darkened the lights, and settled into their dreams. 

The children had huddled in their beds awaiting the end of the thunderstorm. The storm had burned itself out, and now the children slept. All but one. Creeping out of her shared room, trying not to disturb Louisa and Brigitta, both of whom at least appeared to sleeping very soundly, Liesl made her way down the stairs from the family's quarters, crossed the small landing, then scurried up the staircase to the servants' quarters. Stepping lightly, she made her way to Fräulein Maria's room and tapped on the door.

There was a quiet moment and she feared that Fräulein Maria was too heavy a sleeper to be roused, but she soon heard the governess moving about, perhaps looking for her robe. "Yes?" she said as she opened the door a bit, too tired to really see just who had woken her. "Oh," she said, recognizing Liesl even through her bleary eyes. "Please come in."

"Thank you," the girl said, sliding through the crack to Fräulein Maria's room; the open door was soon remedied by her governess, not eager for another confrontation with an already irate father. "At least I didn't come in through the window this time."

"Yes, thank _you_ for that," Maria said, folding her arms to tuck her hands close to her sides. "But it's probably best for your health that you avoid doing that very often. Was there something you wanted, though, Liesl?"

"I just wanted to—to thank you," she said, her face lighting up in gratitude. "For not telling Father what happened earlier today. I don't even want to think how angry he might have been if he knew."

"Well, Liesl," Maria began, pleased that the girl felt she could come and speak to her without fear, "I was perfectly happy to keep something you seemed to have given me in confidence, but I do ask that you not put me in that situation again. I hardly like to decide to betray my employer or one of my charges."

"I am sorry about that," Liesl continued, her eyes dropping for a minute, "and for interrupting your sleep. But you suggested that we talk, and I really would like to do that, without all my brothers and sisters around. I do love them dearly, but they are younger than I am."

Maria smiled at the girl's tact. She really was like a mother to her siblings, and when she was simply being a sister to them, she was much kinder than older sisters usually were. "I'll tell you what—tomorrow, you'll help me out while I let your brothers and sisters have a day off to just for some fun. We'll talk then. Does that sound good?"

Liesl brightened. "Very. What will we be doing?"

"You'll see tomorrow. Perhaps you would like to take your dress back now?" Maria asked. "I ran it in some water after it soaked, and it seems to be good as new. I've hung it up to drip, and it's only a bit damp now."

"Thank you, Fräulein Maria." Maria began to go for her bathroom, but Liesl stopped her. "I can get it," she said. Opening the door and snapping on the small lamp, she saw the white dress was nearly as white as she recalled, if still wet, and the dirt nowhere to be seen, even in the _fräulein's_ bathtub. Snatching the wooden hanger from the towel bar, she turned off the light and pulled the door shut behind her. "Now off to bed with you," Maria said, "and I mean straight to bed, like I told your brothers earlier."

"Were they fighting again?" Liesl asked, letting the dress drop over her arms.

"Is that common as well?" Maria asked incredulously, shaking her head at Liesl's affirmation. "Yet another thing I'll have to make sure you children know—how to fight back." They shared a grin, and Liesl was not sure if her governess was speaking entirely in jest. Opening the door, Maria gave Liesl a quick hug, then set her on her way back to her own room, not wanting her in trouble now after it had just been avoided.


	6. Breakfast

**Chapter 6: Breakfast**

"Fräulein Maria," Frau Schmidt said far too soon, "Fräulein Maria, it's time you were up and thinking about waking the children."

"Yes," Maria said with a yawn, turning in her bed, "in a minute."

"I'm afraid that if you want to go get those children dressed after having a shower yourself, my dear, you don't have a minute." The housekeeper's voice was gentle as she opened the windows to let in the clean morning air and a bit of a breeze. She did not ask why the drapes had already been removed; in her heart, she had a suspicion, and if she was right, it would do the children and the Captain a world of good. "I do apologize, Maria, that I neglected to tell you what time you needed to be up when we lost spoke yesterday. I would have thought that a postulant was used to waking early."

"Oh, the rest were," Maria said, rousing herself at last to sit, blinking quickly at the sudden bright light. "I, however, was the trouble one, as Sister Berthe made sure I was always aware. I could hardly wake with the abbey's bells chiming right over my head." Crawling from her bed, Maria stretched her arms a bit above her head, enjoying the gentle popping sensation from her shoulders and elbows. "I'll be around in ten minutes to get the children up."

"That will do," Frau Schmidt said. "No matter when he's up and gone, the Captain always wants the children to take their breakfast at eight." Glancing at her clock, Maria felt she had time enough. The hands read half past six.

"Thank you for waking me," she said as the housekeeper made for the open door. "Does that mean that the Captain has already left for Vienna?"

"Oh, yes. He likes to leave early in the morning."

"Without even saying good-bye to his children?" Maria asked, stunned.

"It does seem a bit harsh," Frau Schmidt agreed, closing the door most of the way, "but I wonder if he fears their good-byes would hold him here, that they would finally convince him to stay." Pausing, she turned back to add with a renewed smile, "Just be sure you're on time today."

"I will," Maria said with a laugh as the door clicked shut. Stepping into her bathroom, fully lit by the sunshine that filtered through a small window near the top of the wall, Maria had her shower, fully relishing the heat soothing heat of the steaming water. As much as she liked hot showers, one of the few things she had thoroughly enjoyed about life at the abbey, she tore herself from it reluctantly, drying and wrapping her body with one of the towels that had been provided her.

Her only dress was still the drab gray thing she had worn from the convent, though as she pulled it over her head once more and examined herself on the mirror that hung inside her wardrobe, she saw it did not look too hideous with the jacket removed. He had been right, about that and at least one more thing: she really did not look like a governess.

"I still can't believe that I'm here," she said quietly to herself, smoothing a small fold from the skirt of the dress. Running her fingers through her short, damp hair to give a semblance of order, Maria deemed herself done, and nearly shot out the door to prepare the children for breakfast.

Waking them, she found, was the simple portion of the challenge. They woke easily enough, but then simply turned over to their other side, just as she had done, claiming they only wanted "five more minutes" of sleep. Once Maria dragged the covers off of Brigitta, whom she suspected had been up some hours into the night engrossed in her book—_The House of the Seven Gables_, Maria could see on the spine of the book that now lay on the carpet_—_Liesl and Louisa crawled out without protest, not eager to be woken by the cooler air around them. "Now you three had better hurry up," she said, trying to lace her tone with irritation. "Breakfast in this house is always at eight, I understand, so you had better hurry if you want to get your showers and baths done before you eat."

That set them scurrying and searching for clothes, and Maria bit back a laugh as she closed the door to that room. Knocking on the door of the boys room before she peeked in, she found them both beginning to slink out of bed, Kurt taking the sheets with him. "Really, Kurt," she said, trying to scold him, "those aren't for you wrap around yourself. But hurry up, or you'll be late for breakfast. You, too, Friedrich," she directed at the older boy who was sitting on his bed and rubbing his eyes unhappily. Closing the door to that room, she continued down the hall to the little girls' room, though she did not bother to knock on this one.

Gretl and Marta were already up, though still in their nightgowns that looked very rumpled, and playing a hand clapping game with one another. "Fräulein Maria!" Gretl shrieked, jumping up from the little game to wrap herself around Maria's waist as she had the night before during the thunderstorm.

"Good morning to you, too," Maria said as she stroked the girl's hair. "And you, Marta," she added to the older girl who pushed her way to her feet slowly, but ran just as quickly for a hug that Maria willingly gave. "Did you girls sleep well last night?"

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," they said together, then Gretl continued excitedly, "I just remembered bunny rabbits and ladybugs, and then I was asleep for the rest of the storm!" Marta nodded in agreement.

"Well, that's wonderful news. But let's get you two ready for breakfast."

Each of the children's rooms had a bathroom that the inhabitants shared, easily in the case of the little girls, sometimes tensely with the older girls. Running some warm water for a bath, Maria quickly brushed the two girls' hair; both wore it long and this morning each head of hair was filled with tangles.

"Fräulein Maria," Gretl said as Maria finished with her hair and set to unknotting Marta's, "why is your hair so short? Don't you like long hair?"

"I do," Maria said, holding a handful of Marta's locks loosely from her head so as not to tug on too violently as she worked on a particularly unhappy tangle. "For years, I had my hair as long as yours, though it wasn't always practical on a farm. But when I entered the abbey, I was required to scorn all worldly luxuries, and to take no pride in my appearance. For myself, to ensure that giving up of such things, I cut my hair a week after I arrived. It is much easier to take care of, unlike yours, Gretl," she added with a smile.

"You would look so pretty with long hair," Marta said, wanting some part in the conversation.

"And that's why I cut it off." At last satisfied with Marta's hair, Maria glanced at the tub, which was almost overflowing with the warm water. Snapping the knob to the off position, Maria took a deep breath. "Come on, you two, out of those nightgowns and into the tub."

The girls peeled their night clothes off easily and Maria helped them slide into the bathtub together, sending a bit of water splashing over the edge to the finely tiled floor. Helping the girls wash up was a fairly easy task, as she rolled up her sleeves and lathered them with soap quickly. The harder part was persuading the girls not to splash either her or one another, and she suspected that by the end, there was more water on the floor than in the bathtub.

"Well, I think that's good enough," Maria said at last as she worked her way to her feet, glad to feel her feet again; they tingled harshly from sitting on her knees so long. She pulled Marta from the water first and wrapped her in a towel, confident the girl was old enough to dry herself off. She then reached for Gretl and slung a towel around her shoulders, drying her arms for her. She tried not to look at her dress, which was damp on its skirt and the upper portion of the bodice.

After a few minutes the girls were sufficiently dry, and Maria went about her next task of trying to dress them. Neither girl argued too much with being fitted into their sailor uniforms, and in her mind, Maria was protesting louder than either of them. Satisfied with their clean faces, well laid hair, and immaculate clothes, Maria offered a hand to either of them and they began to make their way downstairs for breakfast. At the moment, she was rather happy that the Captain had already left for Vienna, and would not see her half soaked in her admittedly hideous dress.

At the bottom of the stairs in the entrance hall, each clad in their perfectly pressed uniforms, the remaining children were standing at attention in their birth order. Maria shook her head as she clutched the younger girls' hands even tighter. "Children," she said with a mournful smile, "if you don't wish to stand in that line, I won't insist that you do. And I don't require you to stand at attention, either. In fact, I would prefer if you didn't."

Liesl was the first to let her shoulders droop to a comfortable position, nearly forcing them to do so. She did not slouch, but stood easily, as she had not been permitted to since their mother's death. Louisa and Brigitta followed her lead, while the boys seemed to hardly hear her words. "But, what will Father say?" Kurt protested softly, his mind drifting to the previous day, and their father's insistence on their order.

Dropping Marta and Gretl's hands, Maria stepped over to stand in front of Kurt and set her light hand on his shoulder. "Your father is not around to protect his idiosyncrasies. Therefore, the ones I do not approve of, I will not enforce." Brigitta had a small smile on her face, one that she was clearly trying to hold in. "Come along, children," Maria continued. "Go, eat your breakfast."

The order with which the children had proceeded the night before was lost, but as they entered the dining room to the table set with fine china and glasses, and plates laden with eggs and potatoes, and pitchers filled with milk and water, Maria thought she sensed something in the group she had not the night before—lightheartedness, and the simple joy that came from children.

The breakfast was eaten with gusto and conversation shouted from one child to another, a new experience for all the children, and a rather enjoyable one. Maria had to laugh, unable to believe these were the same children that had sat so quietly and somberly at this same table the previous evening, waiting with mischief in their hearts for her to sit on the pine cone they had prepared for her.

As the last of the children finished, Maria and the three oldest began to settle the breakfast things into orderly piles on the table for the maids. "It's the least we can do," Maria said to the curious expressions. "Come on." Waving her hands for the to follow, Maria and the children trooped out into the entrance hall, where they fell into their line without thought. "Please," Maria pleaded, spreading her hands in desperation, "please do not stand in that line. And remember, you do not have to stand at attention."

Her words seemed spoken in earnest, so one by one the children relaxed again, and Gretl ran to take hold of her _fräulein's_ hand. "Now," the young woman continued, clutching Gretl's fingers as eagerly as the child held hers, "according to your father's—_orders,_ you are to spend the morning studying your schoolwork. I will tell you, though, I do not have the slightest intention of chaining you to a pile of books for the entire summer."

Every child's face brightened, even little Gretl's who did not yet attend school. "Summer holidays are meant to be exactly that—a break from your studies. That said, I will ask you to attend to your studies once or twice a week, enough to keep them fresh in your mind for next year."

"Then what will we be doing, Fräulein Maria?" Brigitta asked. The question was on each mind, since they hardly knew what children did when they were not studying, in school, marching about the grounds breathing deeply, or sitting quietly in their bedrooms or the dining room.

"I have no idea, Brigitta," Maria said as she shrugged her shoulders, her certainty that the girl would be the first to speak confirmed. "What would you like to do with the day?"

The young girl's eyes sparkled as her mind danced upstairs to settle on her book that, despite her extra hours sitting up last night, she had failed to finish. "I want to finish my book, Fräulein Maria!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, no!" Friedrich groaned, pulling a face. Turning from Brigitta, Maria held him with a quick gaze, tugging on Gretl's hand to gently pull her along until she could stand in front of the boy and see him clearly.

"What's the matter with Brigitta wanting to read?" she asked.

"It's all very good if Brigitta wants to spend the entire day with her nose in a book out in the gazebo," he said, offering his sister an annoyed glance, and not seeing the light on Liesl's face as he mentioned the gazebo, "but why should we all be stuck doing that?"

"Who said you would?" Maria shot back at him. The boy seemed confused. What else could they be doing if Brigitta was reading; they never did activities individually. "What would you like to do with the day?"

What did _he_ want to do? He couldn't recall being asked that in years. "I'd like to play a game—a sport!" he said enthusiastically, and Kurt nodded at this.

"You might have to wait on that a few more days," Maria said, sad she had dampened his spirits. "Perhaps you could stick with that game, and play cards."

"Why? Brigitta gets to do what she wants!"

"Well, I'll confess to you, children, the reason I'm letting you all do as you wish today, and only today, is that I'm afraid I'll be occupied."

"Doing what?" Louisa asked, her voice inquisitive, and Maria's cheeks blushed even as she smiled; teenagers could really imagine the most scandalous things.

"Louisa!" Liesl snapped, ashamed her sister could have such thoughts.

"You'll find out tomorrow," was all that Maria would say, her eyes twinkling as brightly as Brigitta's had at the prospect of an entire day spent reading. "Or perhaps even this evening, if my help and I can work fast enough. But first, I shall need to get all your measurements!"

"Our measurements?" Liesl asked. "What for?"

"You'll find out even before the rest," Maria answered, dropping Gretl's hand. Leaning down to the little girl, she gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "I'll need you and Marta to keep close to Friedrich or Louisa. They'll look after you today." There was no question in her voice. "Won't they?"

The two older children nodded a bit glumly. "Don't worry, you two," she said with a broad smile. "I just need you to keep an eye on Marta and Gretl—to make certain that you can play that sport tomorrow." Both Louisa and Friedrich seemed encouraged by this thought, a certain goal to keep in mind, and one they would willingly watch two little girls to attain. "Now that we have worries about studies out of the way, come along and we'll find where this house hides its sewing machine!"


	7. Sewing with Maria

**Chapter 7: Sewing with Maria**

"What _are_ we doing?" Liesl asked as Maria closed the door to the sewing room. It was upstairs in the servants' quarters, hidden in a labyrinth of corridors that they had required the help Frau Schmidt to find. After taking repeated assurances that Marta and Gretl would be watched and entertained by Friedrich and Louisa, after measurements of all the children had been taken, Maria and Liesl had set out for the governess's room. There, Maria found the panels of drapery, already removed the night before, and inspected them once more. They had passed inspection a second time, and so the pair had begun their trek for the sewing room. "You never answered my question, Fräulein Maria."

"We are solving a dreadful problem, Liesl," Maria said, her tone utterly serious as she dropped the drapes in the underused room, kicking up clouds of dust. Even as she coughed, she laughed. "Dusting this room was not that problem." She ran for the window and thrust it open, beckoning Liesl over to gasp for clean air. Sticking their heads out the window, they could gaze out over the grounds, and see the lake glimmering in the morning sun.

"Well," the girl said, laughing as well, "then what are we solving?"

"The utter lack of play clothes in this house," Maria said, waving her arm to draw in the warm air. "You are all children—yes, even you are a child for a little while longer—and children need to have time to play. You can hardly be expected to do that in those silly uniforms of yours or the lovely dresses and suits you have for the evening."

"But Father doesn't allow us to play," Liesl said, her lungs finally clear as she drew back from the window, allowing Maria to do so as well. "He doesn't want us to become attached to games and fun. He says they're no use in real life."

"Well, as I told all of you earlier, I will not protect the foolish ideas your father has if I do not agree with them. He has set me up as your caretaker and has chosen to trust my best judgment, and so I will take care of you—as the children you are," Maria said, eyeing the material. "Come along, Liesl. If we don't get started soon, you and I will be trapped in here breathing dust for another day, and I don't think Friedrich will take kindly to being denied a ball game tomorrow as well as today. Now, where did you put those measurements?"

Liesl dug around in the small pocket of her sailor's uniform, right at the top of her skirt. Feeling the small scrap of paper, she gave it to Maria. "Thank you," Maria said as she took the small slip of paper, marked with the varying measurements of different parts of the children's bodies.

By the sewing machine sat a small metal box, that when she opened it, Maria found was filled with an assortment of sewing supplies. She sifted through the items until she found a small white pencil, a long tape measure, a sharp pair of scissors, and a pincushion covered with long, silver pins. Setting these on the floor beside the chair for the sewing machine, she turned around, trying to remember where she put the curtains.

"Now then," she continued as she reached for the first of the newly rediscovered drapery panels and spread it on the clear floor of the sewing room, "how about we have that talk we didn't have last night. Sit down beside me, I'll show you what to do when the time comes."

Liesl dropped to the floor beside Maria, watching her unwind the tape and consult the small sheet of paper for the first measurement, one she had taken from Liesl. Setting the beginning of the tape measure at the top corner of the fabric, she smoothed it to the fabric until she reached the length she needed, and here she drew a white X, the center set precisely where her length ended.

"So, Liesl, who were you out with last night?" she asked, turning to the paper again and finding a new number. She turned the measure to set the beginning on the X, then lay the tape across the fabric length wise, drawing a dotted line along it to the next indicated number. She turned it once again and put a dotted line along the fabric to the top.

"Well," Liesl began hesitantly, not sure if she wanted to speak. But something in the way Maria had protected her from what surely would have been her father's wrath the night before made her believe that she would understand, or try to. "A boy I know."

"The young man who delivered the telegram?" Maria asked, turning to her page again. Liesl did not hear anything but the statement, neither a reprimand nor concern over her judgment.

"Yes."

"What is his name?" Maria was already moving along to Louisa's measurements, finished with the main portion of the bodice of Liesl's dress.

"Rolfe," Liesl said, smiling even as she spoke his name. "He's very nice."

"I'm sure he is, if you like him. You hardly seem like the girl to be taken with a cad. Where did you meet him?"

"I first met him when he delivered a telegram here for Father, when we were all out having our walk. We were in-between governesses," Liesl said as she blushed, now feeling a bit ashamed of their war against the poor women, "and he came up to us and asked me if our father was at home, saying he had a telegram for him. I answered that he was, and that was it, he went off to give Father the cable."

"That hardly sounds like a budding romance, Liesl," Maria said, giving the girl a careful glance as she looked up from marking the top of Brigitta's dress.

"But that was just the beginning, Fräulein Maria," Liesl exclaimed, leaning in closer to the older woman. "He had several more to deliver, a few when Father wasn't home, but most were from Vienna, and Baroness Schräder. And as I discovered the next fall, we attend the same school."

"Does he visit her often?" Maria asked, not looking up this time.

"Who?" Liesl asked, confused as to the question.

"Baroness Schräder."

"Oh. Yes, he spends more time in Vienna than he does here, Fräulein," Liesl said, frowning.

"I can't understand that," Maria continued, pausing in her work to take in Liesl's hurt face. "I mean, I know the reason, but I cannot comprehend that he would prefer to shut out those who love him the most."

"Oh, we've become used to it," Liesl said in sad honesty. "It's been this way for more than four years—since Mother died."

"So, you were twelve when she died, Liesl?" Maria asked, turning back as she suspected there would be some pain on the young woman's face, and she did not want to see it if Liesl did not want her to.

"Yes. It had been about three months since my birthday, so about four years ago in March. She died of scarlet fever; we all had it, even Father. Well, the little ones didn't have it, which I have no doubt is very good. I don't think they could have survived it." Pausing for a moment to choose her words correctly, Liesl then continued. "In a way, I think Gretl and Marta, perhaps even Brigitta, are very fortunate—they have no real memories of her."

"Oh, I don't think I would call them fortunate," Maria said, tracing a line for Marta's dress. "They've missed out on so much, not having a mother, not even knowing their mother. As terrible as it is to lose a parent, I would think it far more painful to never have met that person. But I do understand why you said what you did, Liesl."

"Really?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm." Tilting her head carefully, Maria drew another line, then paused, looking up at Liesl. "I lost my mother when I was young, in fact when I was a little younger than you were. At the time, I wished I could forget everything I ever remembered about her, and shut out the pain that way—rather what your father has done.

"But as the months and years passed, I realized that no matter what the pain of those memories, I loved her very much, and never wanted to forget her." Dropping her pencil, Maria wiped a single glittering tear from her left eye. "I'm terribly sorry, Liesl," she said with a sad smile, "here I am talking about myself when we need to get down to work."

"That's all right, Fräulein," Liesl said, offering a smile in return. "Now, what do you need me to do?"

Reaching for the scissors, Maria proffered them to her helper who took them gladly. "Well, since you asked. If you will just cut along these lines I've drawn, very carefully. But let us return to the subject at hand, this young boy, Rolfe..."

They worked steadily throughout the day, pausing to take a few minutes standing break as they finished cutting the last piece of fabric. After teaching Liesl to pin the seams together—Maria felt almost appalled that the girl had never had any lessons in sewing—she set her to work while she ventured to the rest of the house.

All the children were alive and accounted for, as well as enjoying themselves. Brigitta she could see when she glanced out door that lead to the terrace when she went downstairs, a shadow within the gazebo as she sat curled up on one of the benches, drinking in the fresh air as she lost herself in the world that Nathaniel Hawthorne had lovingly created. Friedrich, Louisa, and Kurt were in the drawing room, engrossed in a complicated card game that Louisa appeared to be winning. Marta and Gretl sat in the corner of the room playing with their dolls, hardly taking notice of the other children.

Satisfied that none of her charges had come to any harm, she made her way to the kitchen where she picked up a bit of lunch for herself and Liesl. Working even as they ate, they continued to pin, now simply enjoying the companionable silence that had fallen. They alternated in their use of the sewing machine; Liesl had never used one before and Maria had more often than not sewn her clothes by hand, but in the end, they succeeded.

"Well, Liesl," Maria said as she held up one of the dresses in the fading light of the sunset that splashed the room with its vibrant reds and golds, "I think we may consider this a day well spent."

"Mm-hmm," was all the Liesl said as she tried to stretch her legs, which had become very sore from sitting on them most of the day. "I'm just happy we finished before the sun went down, Fräulein Maria, or else I don't know how we would have been able to see anything."

"Oh, we would have managed," Maria said as she dropped the bristling pincushion, scissors, white pencil, and tape measure in the sewing box. "I'm sure there is a lamp for the snatching some place around here. But come along, let's go get some dinner. I'm sure you must be hungry."

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," Liesl said with a smile as she felt her stomach rumble eagerly at the thought of food.

Dinner, as breakfast had been, was a noisy affair, and one the children were rather unused to, even with the evening meal the previous night. Brigitta was bound and determined to tell each and every person the story she had finished that day, while Kurt teased Louisa to no end about the game she had lost despite her initial lead. The little ones ate quietly for the most part, simply enjoying the chaos that surrounded them, and occasionally put in a bit of conversation with broad smiles.

"Now," Maria said, after instructing the children to set their dishes in piles once again, "Liesl shall we go and reveal our masterpieces to your brothers and sisters!"

"Yes!" the girl exclaimed, and they trotted out of the dining room quickly and grinning broadly, while the remaining children looked at one another, confused as ever. But it had been a peculiar day: a rest from their studies and their mandatory walk, being able to do whatever they chose, within reason, and a dinner with conversation. By now, they felt they should expect the unusual and peculiar from their new _fräulein_.

"They're hardly as nice as those lovely dresses and suits you have on now," Maria said as she and Liesl came back into the dining room, each bearing heaps of fabric in their arms, "but I do think you'll find they have one advantage—these clothes have been made to get dirty."

"Made to get _dirty_?" Friedrich repeated incredulously as he eyed the clothes quizzically.

"Yes," Maria said, "they have been made to get dirty, as I have a sense you may have a need for them. Well, let's see, this goes to Kurt..." Handing out play clothes to six excited children—Liesl already held hers—was not the trouble, Maria found. The difficulty was in convincing all seven of them that the clothes did not need trying on at that very instant.

"You'll get enough wear and tear out of them tomorrow," she laughed, clapping her hands together in joy. "But it's getting late. It's time for you to be getting to bed. So go on, I'll come by later to say your prayers with you. Get a good night's rest, all of you—we're going on a picnic tomorrow, so you will need as much energy as you can muster!"

Maria had tucked in the younger children, prayers had been said, good nights of sleep had been wished, and seven children had laid their heads down on their pillows, eagerly anticipating the rise of the morning sun. For herself, Maria still had some hours before she would find rest. Venturing to her room, she picked up the material that Frau Schmidt had brought her the previous night. If she was to keep up with seven children overjoyed at the prospect of leaving the grounds of their home for the first time in weeks, she had no desire to be stuck in the heavy gray dress she presently wore. She remembered her own measurements from the previous time she had made a dress, and if anything she had lost weight since her entrance to the convent. It would only take her a few hours, she knew, and then she could rest easily.

On the other side of the house, the children were waiting patiently for a time, and after ten minutes, Louisa lost her little bit of patience. The three older girls crept quietly down the hall to the boys' room, knocked quietly on the door and beckoned them to follow to Gretl and Marta's room.

"What's the big idea?" Kurt asked, rubbing his eyes. He had eaten a larger dinner than usual, and was feeling the exhaustion that typically accompanied his over-eating. "I want to go to sleep."

"You can in a minute," Liesl hissed as she closed the door to the younger girls' room. Gretl was already asleep, but Liesl wasn't worried about her; she had never seemed to play any tricks on their governesses.

"He's got a point," Friedrich put in, rubbing his arms and wishing he had thought to grab his robe. "What's the big idea? Couldn't it have waited until morning?"

"Because I wanted to say this now, not then—I don't think we should play any more tricks on Fräulein Maria," Liesl said, waiting for the din of laughter that would no doubt erupt in the next five seconds. But her brothers and sisters only looked at one another, consideration in their eyes.

"I agree," Brigitta said at last. Marta, still sitting in her bed though awake, began to nod vigorously at this, and Louisa soon joined in. The two boys scowled, but agreed at last. "She's far too nice to do anything to her," Brigitta continued.

"I wouldn't say that," Kurt mumbled, cross and disinclined to agree with anyone at the moment, regardless of what they said. "You just don't want her to do anything to _you_ in return."

"Well, besides all that," Liesl said slightly louder, "I think we shouldn't because Fräulein Maria is not going to follow Father's orders. She isn't going to make us march, or do any of the other silly things our other governesses tried to make us do. She wants to be our friend; she wants to understand us." There was some more nodded agreement.

"That's more than Father does," Louisa said, crossing her legs on the carpet and frowning up at her siblings. Some less enthusiastic agreement followed this.

"There's nothing we can do about that," Kurt said. "I mean, what could we do anyway? Try to make him forget how much he doesn't want us near him?"

"All right," Liesl said, her voice rather like an adult's now as she tried to avoid a screaming match that would certainly draw Fräulein Maria's attention to them, "let's all go back to bed. You especially, Marta." The girl was yawning in her bed and swaying as she tried to sit upright, and Liesl could only smile at the sight. She helped her younger sister lay down, tucked her sheets around her again, and kissed her forehead. "Good night."

Marta closed her eyes and was instantly asleep, and did not hear her brothers and sisters murmuring "Good night" to one another, nor did she see the light go out and the door close. She was already on a cloud of dreams, wondering what a picnic would be like.


	8. Music Lessons

**Chapter 8: Music Lessons**

The children were enjoying themselves, Maria could see that easily. The girls were sprawled on the grass and the blankets they had brought along with their lunch while the boys tossed a ball between themselves. Friedrich just seemed satisfied to have finally had his sport. Above them, the sun was bright and beautiful, the sky a clear, vibrant blue that could have gone on forever. The grass was green and a light breeze swam in the air, brushing away any oppressive heat of the summer sun. _Correct that,_ Maria thought, _everyone is enjoying themselves._

They had enjoyed a lovely walk through Salzburg, taking in sights that the older children had not seen in years, and Marta and Gretl never before. Maria could hardly recognize the children of Captain von Trapp in this group that was sitting in a meadow, simply having fun.

"Fräulein Maria?" a quiet voice asked from the blanket.

"Mm-hmm?" Maria answered with a bit of apple in her mouth, drawn from her thoughts. Louisa had spoken, her head leaning lazily against the picnic basket.

"Can we do this every day?"

"Don't you think you'd soon get tired of it, Louisa?" Maria asked, taking another bite of her apple.

"I suppose so..." Louisa, too, was eating a piece of fruit and she looked at it for a moment, but her gaze was drawn upward suddenly. Behind Maria, Kurt missed Friedrich's toss and went scampering after the ball. Louisa had to grin; despite his professed love for outdoors, Kurt was horribly clumsy. "Every other day?" she asked hopefully. Maria laughed a bit at that. Louisa did certainly seem like the kind of girl that enjoyed the outdoors more than she did being cooped up inside, learning to be a lady.

"I haven't had so much fun since the day we put glue on Fräulein Josephine's toothbrush," Kurt put in, coming back to his position in front of Friedrich, throwing the ball to his brother once more. The other children smiled at the memory, remembering how the horrid woman had spent days trying to remove the final, sticky strings from the back of her teeth.

"I can't understand how children as nice as you can manage to play such awful tricks on people," Maria said, the undertone of disgust in her tone kept to a minimum.

"Oh, it's easy," Brigitta said with complete honesty as she came up and pulled something to eat from the picnic basket.

"But why do it?" Maria asked. That was the part that confused her. She knew that tormenting their governesses could not have been too difficult; she knew it was easy to do anything to anyone if you had a purpose. She'd learned that her first night in the house.

"Well, how else can we get Father's attention?" Liesl added from across the blanket where Gretl sat in her lap, already a bit tired.

"Yes." Brigitta's eyes were sad for a moment as she went back to sit down. For once, though, she did not miss her books. It was pleasant to be up on this mountain with her family, simply enjoying herself.

"Oh, I see," Maria said. "Well, we'll have to think about that one." Standing quickly, she brushed the crumbs of her lunch from her hands, then beckoned them all to follow her over to a large rock, where her guitar was already propped up. "All right, everybody. Over here."

"What are we going to do?" Marta asked as she stumbled after her governess.

"Let's think of something to sing for the Baroness when she comes," Maria said, picking her guitar up by its neck and sitting on the rock. She fiddled with the tuning of a few strings, beginning to feel the heat of the day.

"Father doesn't like us to sing," Marta said, only half-hearted in her protest. In her oldest memories, she could find someone singing to her as she was rocked to sleep, whispering a sweet lullaby in a deep voice that reminded her of her father's. She longed to relive that memory, and recapture the strange feeling of family that went with the recollection.

"Well, perhaps we can change his mind," Maria said with optimism. It was just his stubbornness that made him the way he was, and if she knew herself, she knew she could work through stubbornness. After all, she had survived how many years with _her_ father? "Now, what songs do you know?"

"We don't know any songs," Friedrich answered as the remaining children sat in the cool grass around Fräulein Maria.

"Not any?" she asked in disbelief as she surveyed the children, almost regretting the honest she could see on their faces. _Goodness gracious,_ she thought, _ how can children not know any songs._

"We don't even know how to sing," Louisa added.

"No," Brigitta said.

"Well, let's not lose any time. You must learn." Fiddling with the tuning of her guitar again, she considered just how one taught seven children with no musical background to sing. _Not easily,_ she thought, _but it can't be impossible._

"But how?" Gretl asked for all her siblings. Beginning to strum her guitar, Maria hit upon an idea. What better way to teach children to sing than _with_ a song? Smiling broadly, she began to work her fingers in a familiar melody.

* * *

In the few days the Captain had been away, the children found life far more interesting and fun than they ever remembered. Though they missed their father desperately, almost as much as they missed him when he was at home, they did not find themselves wishing he was about. He would merely spoil their joy. 

Every morning, Fräulein Maria taught them more about singing. Each day, she checked that they sang on pitch and learned the different rhythms she taught. She divided them into sections quickly, identifying both boys as tenors, Gretl, Marta, and Brigitta as altos, and Louisa and Liesl as sopranos. After their morning warm ups, she gave each section smaller techniques to work on.

But this morning was different. "Come on," she said as soon as the children were finished with breakfast and had piled the dishes nicely, now a habit they needed no reminder for. They followed her into drawing room, waiting for her instructions on what they were to practice that day. Today, though, she had several pieces of paper for them, covered with hand-copied words. "Here," she said as she handed one to each of the children.

"What is this?" Brigitta asked, glancing down at it. It seemed to be a poem to her mind, though she had never seen it before.

"This is what you're going to perform for the Baroness," Maria said happily, pleased that she had been able to take the children to this level in such a few short days. They were quite fortunate, she knew, to be blessed with such a musical talent. "It's called 'The Sound of Music.' The notes are not too complicated, but I want you to learn the words first; we'll worry about the pitches later."

"Is it very pretty?" Marta asked, looking over the words with a disbelieving gaze.

"It is," Maria answered as she leaned down to set her hand on Marta's shoulder. "Now you and Gretl just do the best you can. If you need help, either ask Louisa or Friedrich to help you. I have perfect confidence you will learn these words with ease."

The children scattered about the room, the little ones sitting on the carpet with Kurt stretched out lazily beside them while the older children sat on the couch and in the chairs about the room. Brigitta pulled her legs up and sat with them crossed in her chair, bent over the page, her lips forming the words she read silently. "While you six work on that," Maria continued, crossing the room to stand before the eldest child, "I'm going to need you again, Liesl."

"What for?" the girl asked as soon as she could see her brothers and sisters buried in the lyrics. Brigitta's eyes were flying over the words swiftly, and Liesl felt certain the girl had a few of the lines already memorized. Brigitta was like that; Liesl would have sworn she had a photographic memory.

"This is your performance," Maria said, leading her out of the drawing room, where they usually had their music lessons. There was a piano in the room, and more than once, Maria had pounded out a note time and time again, embedding it in their skulls. "There will have to be someone to play the accompaniment, and I think it would best be you, Liesl. Would I be correct in assuming you do not play the guitar?"

"Why won't you be joining us?" Liesl asked, frowning as she glanced to Fräulein Maria's guitar, sitting upright in a corner of the entrance hall where it had been set earlier that morning. It didn't seem right to be performing without her.

"This is _your_ performance, something for you and your siblings to give to your father. It will be much more special to him if it is only you children." Stepping away from Liesl long enough to pick up the instrument, Maria ran her fingers on the neck lovingly. It seemed so strange that a single object could hold so much joy. "Well?" she asked again, holding it out. Her guitar was nearer to her heart than anything else she owned, excepting her Bible, but pleasure and excitement greeted the thought of sharing the instrument with Liesl. "Do you know how to play?"

Raising her hands cautiously, Liesl took the guitar, and felt the memories return. She could easily find a position for her hands, the different frets, the strings beneath the fingers of her right hand. In the depths of her memory, she could even remember a chord or two.

"I can see I was wrong," she heard Fräulein Maria say, and glancing up, she could see there was no disappointment in that mistake.

"Years ago, before Mother died," Liesl said, "Father was beginning to teach me to play. He had only been at it for a few months when—we all caught the fever, and Mother died. He refused to teach me anymore afterwards." Despite the years, her hands moved as smoothly as the day she had first begun to learn, pressing and stroking the proper strings as a smile came across her face.

"I didn't know your father was at all musical," Maria said, surprised. She hardly wanted to say anything, watching Liesl strum her guitar as though nothing else in the world existed, as though she was in another time and place. But she had to keep her here, and not let her dwell on what was. "The Captain doesn't seem a the man to worry about such things."

"Oh, he is," Liesl said, stopping her playing and glancing back up; her eyes had fallen on the guitar strings moving beneath her touch. "Or, he was. He used to sing wonderfully with Mother. He played the guitar and the piano. He especially liked to play music by Mozart."

"I think I can understand why," Maria said, walking over to Liesl to wrap her in a reassuring hug. It was a bit awkward trying to embrace her around the instrument, but Maria thought she could see Liesl breathe easier, the memory of her father rising with less of a sting.

"But he doesn't do any of that anymore. I guess it's still too painful, and reminds him of her. I don't know why he can't just continue to play; it was always so nice to hear him."

"Give him a little time after he gets back from Vienna, Liesl, and I'm sure he'll be playing as though he never stopped," Maria said, letting her arm rest on the girl's shoulder. "Your father will be back in a day or two, so I don't have the time to really teach you how to play. I can teach you the chords that you will need to play this song, though, and we'll finish the rest later. To begin with, you'll need to move your fingers here..."


	9. Trees and Consequences

**Chapter 9: Trees and Consequences**

"Am I really going to climb this tree, Fräulein Maria?" Marta asked, her dark eyes open wide as her head turned upwards to try to see the top of the tree. She didn't want to think about what her brothers and sisters would say if she didn't follow them up, but she felt the overwhelming sense of fear in her stomach.

"You're not scared, are you Marta?" Maria asked gently, squatting to hug the girl quickly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but I promise it will be fun—think of everything you'll be able to see from up on that branch." She pointed to a thick branch two or three meters up the trunk. "Do you think you can reach that, Marta?" The little girl turned to her governess, still a bit uncertain about the climb, but she smiled, and reached up one of her hands to grab a knot protruding from the bark.

Most of the other children were already high in their trees, and Friedrich, Louisa, and Kurt seemed to be involved in an intense competition to see just who could reach the top first, one that Kurt seemed to be winning. Gretl, though, was still on the ground, and Maria came back over to her, standing at the foot of a tree in the middle of the row that lined the dusty country road.

"Well, Gretl," Maria said, "shall we begin?"

"Yes!" the little girl said excitedly, and Maria grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her into the tree, trying not to feel her weight. Small as she was, Gretl had all the weight that small children do, and it sat heavily in Maria's arms. Setting her firmly on a low branch, Maria wrapped her hand around another branch and braced herself against a knot, pulling herself up as well.

Glancing toward the older children, she could see Louisa pulling ahead of Kurt in their quest to reach the top of their trees and hear Kurt shout angrily at her, despairing that his sister could climb a tree faster than he could. Friedrich was behind them both, no longer appearing too interested in the small race, but instead hanging on from a branch, feeling the cool breeze on his face.

Along the road, a car drove by, kicking up dust from the road into Gretl's face. She coughed and waved her hands in front her eyes, trying to keep them clear. "Are you all right?" Maria asked, reaching over to her. The little girl's face was dirty and her eyes tearing a bit to keep clean, but she seemed fine.

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," she answered, smiling. Near the far end of the line of trees, Louisa let out a happy whoop as she at last peeked over the leaves of her tree, bracing her feet in the tree carefully to raise her arms in victory.

"That's payback!" she yelled to Kurt, who was struggling to pull himself through the canopy. "For the card game!"

"Your tree had better branches," he snapped. Not wanting to look at his sister any longer, he began to work his way down, finding the footings he had used to ascend it. "Fräulein Maria," he called.

"Yes, Kurt?" she asked, twisting her body so that she would be able to see him when he came into her line of sight.

"It's getting hot," he said, lowering farther. "Can we do something else now? Something cool?" At that suggestion, there was a chorus of support, even from Louisa, still rejoicing at the top of the tree. Most of the children had been climbing for some time. Maria had not trusted Gretl to be in a tree by herself, and Marta she had spent some time persuading that she would be fine just a few meters off the ground.

"Well," Maria considered, "how does a rowing trip on the lake sound?" Seven excited children nearly jumped at this, so Maria leapt to the ground, an easy task for her. Putting her arms up for Gretl, she set the child on the ground, then moved to the next tree, where she pulled Marta off the branch she was clutching. She didn't think Marta would ever be fond of climbing trees. "Come on, then!" she shouted, waving her arms. "Let's go find a boat!"

* * *

"Good heavens, what's this?" Elsa had said, her eyes turning to the row of trees that shaded the road, trees that at this moment seemed filled with children dressed in some sort of green clothing. They were shouting to one another and acting generally unruly, though two or three of them he would have thought too old for such child's play. 

"Oh, it's nothing, just some local urchins," the Captain had said, driving along without giving them a glance. But as his gaze came across his mirror, one, no, two of those children, he thought he recognized. A girl that looked so very similar to Brigitta hung from a branch by her legs, her long dark hair tightly braided and hanging below her head. And a boy resembling Friedrich made an attempt to climb with speed, but only half-heartedly, as though he was more enjoying the sense of being in the fresh air.

_No,_ he had thought to himself, _those are not my children. My children do not climb trees, nor do they have such clothes._ Yet those faces, so very similar. And the number, why he had counted at least five. If his children were indeed up those trees, making fools of themselves, he would expect eight, including their governess. _But,_ he had reminded himself, _absence of proof is not proof of absence._

"Georg, darling," Elsa had said, touching her hand to his arm, drawing him from his thoughts. "Is something the matter?" A quick glance at her face calmed his fears. He was not bringing her on this visit to his family for worries.

"Oh, no," he said, pursing his lips as he still considered. If those _local urchins_ were his children, he would discover it soon enough, from the mouth of their governess herself.

The rest of the ride had passed in relative silence, with Max muttering to himself a few times about what talent he was certain to find about Salzburg, while Elsa laughed at his determination. The Captain had held the steering wheel rather tighter than necessary, his knuckles whitening about the leather cover.

Franz had been there to greet them, and he had sent the man off with Max and Elsa's baggage, to be taken to their rooms in the guest quarters. Elsa had gone upstairs to freshen up while Max disappeared into the study to make a few telephone calls. While he waited for Elsa to descend the stairs—Elsa did not merely climb stairs, she ascended or descended them—he realized at last what was missing: the sound of his children. It was afternoon, and he expected they had been out and about on their walk, but they should have returned some time ago.

"Georg?" Elsa's soft voice asked. He hadn't even noticed her lovely form taking each step downwards, he had been so wrapped in his own thoughts. And she was lovely, dressed in a brown suit that accentuated every curve of her body, pale hair coiffed carefully atop her head. "Are you sure nothing is bothering you? You've been so distant, since—well since we saw all those charming creatures up in those trees."

"Oh, you'll have to forgive me, Elsa," he said, lacing his fingers through hers. Her skin was warm, and it conjured welcome memories. "I just cannot fathom where my children have gotten to."

"They're probably off having fun with that new governess you said you're so worried about. I've no doubt she's corrupting them to the ways of nuns." She was disappointed that she did not bring the usual smile to his face. "Oh, stop your worrying," she said, slapping his arm playfully. "I'm sure they're fine. Now, let's take a bit of a walk and stretch our legs after that long drive." That brought a smile to his face as he lead her out on to the terrace.

Their pace along the terrace was slow as they basked in the cool breeze that washed from the surface of the shimmering lake, ambling in between the shadows of trees and the golden sunshine. "This really is exciting for me, Georg, being here with you," Elsa said at last as they paused, gazing out over the lake.

"Oh ho ho ho ho ho," the Captain said modestly. He enjoyed teasing Elsa, one of the many things he had cut himself off from after— But he would not think about that, not now. "Trees, lakes, mountains." He dismissively waved his arm towards the mountains that rose to scrape the skyline. "When you've seen one, you've seen them all."

She offered him a sigh as she fixed him with her eyes, a look famous in Vienna. Most men melted under it, but Georg—he wriggled through it each and every time, catching her with a dry comment. If he did not fascinate her so, she did not think she would still even consider him, even though he was so promising a catch. "That is not what I mean and you know it."

"Ah, you—you mean me. I'm exciting." He leaned against the short stone railing at the edge of the terrace, close to her.

"Is that so impossible?"

"No," he answered coyly, "just—highly improbable."

She sighed again, turning away from the lake. "There you go, running yourself down again."

"Well, I'm a dangerous driver." He wrapped his arm around her waist playfully as she laughed. That was one thing about Elsa he had loved from the first time he beheld her—her laugh. It always seemed joyful, yet it never rang out for the vulgar jokes of Viennese society. It took Elsa a moment to find her composure, and she took his arm once again.

"You know, you're—you're much less of a riddle when I see you here, Georg," she said as they ambled about. It was true; here, he seemed at last comfortable, at home as it were.

"In my natural habitat?"

She paused in their walk for a moment to offer him another of her famous—or perhaps infamous—gazes. He had a witty remark for everything, and she did not understand just how he managed it. "Yes, exactly."

"Are you trying to say that I'm more at home here among the birds and the flowers and the wind that moves through the trees like a restless sea, hmm?" he asked.

"How poetic!" There was her laugh again, like the clear call of a songbird.

"Yes, it was rather, wasn't it?" And she laughed again.

"More at home here than in Vienna? In all your glittering salons? Gossiping gaily with bores I detest? Soaking myself in champagne? Stumbling about to waltzes by Strausses I can't even remember? Is that what you're trying to say?" He took his hand from hers, drifting a bit away before he turned to her once again.

"More or less, yes."

"Now, whatever gave you that idea?" he asked, not an ounce of the humor of the words in his very serious voice.

"Oh, I do like it here, Georg." She glanced out over the lake once more, the sun glittering on its softly lapping water. "It's so lovely and peaceful. How can you leave it as often as you do?"

"Oh, pretending to be madly active, I suppose." There was levity in his voice, and in his eyes, eyes that Elsa had so for so long struggled to read properly. Yet now they drained, as though finding the past had risen in his mind unbidden. "Activity suggests a life filled with purpose."

"Could it be running away from memories?" That was what was troubling him. Those memories of his wife that she knew he could not bear. She strode to his side once again, resting her hand on his arm, drawing him out of his melancholy.

"Mm-hmm," he murmured, nodding. "Or perhaps just searching for a reason to stay."

"Oh, I hope that's why you've been coming to Vienna so often. Or were there other distractions there?" She raised her eyebrows, awaiting his answer. She could charm him almost as well as any man in Vienna, and truth be told, she enjoyed his company more than theirs.

"Oh, I'd hardly call you a mere distraction, darling," he said with a laugh as he clutched her about the waist, drawing her to him for a moment.

"Well, what would you call me, Georg?" as she pulled from his playful embrace.

"Mmmm." He examined her for a moment, wrinkling his face and cocking his head to one side as though deep in contemplation. "Lovely." She rewarded him with a smile. "Charming, witty, graceful. The perfect hostess," he continued. "And—you're going to hate me for this—in a way, my savior."

"Oh," she said, feigning insult as she pulled her hand up to her throat in protest, "how unromantic."

"Well, I'd be an ungrateful wretch if I didn't tell you at least once that it was you who brought some meaning back into my life." As he continued to walk, he offered her his arm another time, hoping this time they would not part.

"Oh, I am amusing, I suppose," Elsa conceded at last with a pleasant grin. "And I do have the finest couturier in Vienna. And the most glittering circle of friends. And I do give some rather gay parties."

"Ho ho ho, yes." Of that, there was no doubt in his mind. Though he despised Vienna as one despised a piece of rot in a wall, for Elsa, he believed he might even be able to transplant himself there.

"But take all that away and you—you have just wealthy, unattached little me..." Tugging on his arm lightly, she stopped him, and he glanced at her face that was uncharacteristically serious. "...searching just like you."

"Ah, heh heh," he chuckled as he began to walk again, wrapping her fingers tightly in his own. "Well, I don't deny it," he offered her as they neared the stairs to the veranda. "I am searching for something—someone."

"And have you found that person?" By the lilt in her voice, he knew the answer she wanted.

"I'll make sure to tell you when I'm certain," was all he said, to a sigh and a small frown on her face as they ascended the steps, but it was one of hope. Max was on the veranda, appearing to be finished with his phone calls, and not at all pleased. The Captain suspected it was not due to any fault of the maid he was speaking with.

"How many have I had?" Max asked her; she was holding a tray of strudel out to him. He held a plate covered in crumbs as he eyed the treats greedily, hardly focusing on the fullness of his stomach. Georg's house really did have the finest cuisine in the region.

"Two," she answered.

"Make it an uneven three," he said, plucking one from tray while she laughed. Nodding her head to him, she took the rest with her into the house.

"Still eating, Max, hmm?" the Captain asked as they came closer to Max. They had stopped for luncheon as they passed through Salzburg, and it had been a substantial meal, even for Max, whose appetite he could foresee being matched only by Kurt's in the future. He dropped Elsa's hand as she strayed over to the surly man. "Tsk, tsk. Must be unhappy."

"That marvelous mixed quartet I've been trying for months to steal away from Saul Feurock," he said as he pulled a chair out at the table set on the veranda, letting his plate drop on to the smooth surface.

"What happened, darling?" Elsa asked, always eager to sooth Max's ego. It was the second most pleasant thing about having Max as a friend; the first was insulting him relentlessly, for he took it in great spirits, and gave back even more than he received.

"Yesterday, Sascha Petrie stole them first. If there's one thing I hate, it's a thief." He viciously attacked his strudel with his teeth, reveling in the taste of that marvelous comfort food.

"Ah, Max," the Captain said only mildly critical of his old friend, "you really must try and learn to—love yourself."

"For this I had to call Paris, Rome, and Stockholm," he continued after swallowing, glancing about for sympathy, not expecting to receive any, but hoping nonetheless.

"On Georg's telephone, of course," Elsa put in.

"Well, how else could I afford it?" he asked after another bite of strudel. "Oh, dear, I like rich people. I like the way they live. I like the way I live when I'm with them." He never claimed to be anything but a sponge, and he preferred to remain that way. That kept him honest, at least, which others of his occupation could hardly be called.

"I wonder where the children are," the Captain said again as he peered at the house. From this spot, he could see there was no one in the entrance hall, and he still heard no sound but for a few servants going about their duties. The longer they remained missing, the more certain he was of what he had seen, the more certain he was correct in his fears of leaving his children with this governess.

"Obviously, they must have heard I was coming and went into hiding," he heard Elsa remark, to a small laugh from Max.

"I was hoping they'd be here to welcome you." Knitting his eyebrows for a moment, he glanced in the house once more. No, he would not wait for them any longer. "Uh, Max, do step out of character for a moment and, uh, try and be charming." Feeling the beginnings of actual worry for his children settle in his stomach, he strode into the house without looking back at his guests.

It was as quiet in the villa as it had seemed from the veranda, perhaps three pairs of feet breaking the utter silence. He could be certain those were not the feet of even three of his children, for the steps were far too measured and precise, despite the march he had taught them. He knew that outside of his presence, they could hardly be expected to march.

He heard steps coming from the direction of the kitchen, so he waited, and a few moments, Frau Schmidt emerged, looking tired and a bit laden with flour. "Ah, Captain," she said, curtsying carefully, not wanting to drip anymore flour than necessary on to the clean floor. "It's wonderful to see you home so soon."

"Thank you, Frau Schmidt," he said absently, glancing in the direction she had come. Before he left, he would not have even considered the possibility of his children hiding in the kitchen, but now—he felt he would not be surprised to see them anywhere. "Have you seen the children at all today? I cannot think of where they and Fräulein Maria could possibly be."

"Oh, I believe they have spent most of the day outside—" the housekeeper began, but she snapped her lips shut quickly, as though afraid of what she was about to say. She clutched at her floured apron to keep her fingers still.

"Yes?" he asked, beginning to sense that something was amiss in the house. Frau Schmidt had never failed to answer his questions before.

"I'm not quite certain, Captain," she said after a moment's pause as she tucked a strand of graying hair behind her ear with a trembling hand. "They'll be in soon enough."

"Frau Schmidt," he began, walking closer to her, but she stepped back.

"You must forgive me, Captain," she said nervously. "I simply must see to dinner." Dropping another curtsy, she tried not to hurry back to the kitchen.

Yes, the Captain concluded as he turned back toward the veranda, walking at his usual pace as he considered the words she had spoken and those she had feared to even remember in his presence, there was something amiss. He winced at a quiet sound, almost like a piece of glass being hit. And there it was again.

Standing in the grass beside a bicycle, a young man, perhaps no more than a boy, was tossing pebbles at a window—no, not just any window, it was _Liesl's_ window! And his uniform, that of a delivery boy, perhaps a courier. The memory of his final night at home drifted upwards to his consideration.

"What are you doing there?" he shouted finally, and the boy turned with a look of near terror on his face, dropping the rest of his stones.

"Oh, Captain von Trapp," he began, flustered and beginning to stammer at the Captain's stern face, "I was just looking for—I didn't see—I mean, I didn't know you were—" His words gave out at last as his right arm came up before him. "Heil Hitler!" he said confidently, as though the words were as comforting to him as strudel was to Max. And indeed, at the sudden disturbance to the side, Elsa and Max had begun to walk to the corner of the veranda, in time to see the angry glare that rippled across the Captain's visage.

"Who are you?" he managed at last.

"I have a telegram for Herr Detweiler," the boy said, reaching into the bag that hung around his torso for the small slip of paper.

"I'm Herr Detweiler," Max said quickly, stepping forward, eager for the boy to be on his way, before the tension he could feel radiating from Georg erupted.

"Yes, sir." He ran forward, raising his hand to offer the telegram to its addressee, but the Captain snatched it from his hand before he could reach Herr Detweiler. Sliding it to its recipient, the Captain still bore an unpleasant look.

"All right," he said brusquely. "You've delivered your telegram. Now, get out." He jerked his head, and the boy did not stay to argue, instead trotting back to his bicycle, setting it upright, and wheeling it away without a look back.

"Oh, Georg," Elsa said, seeing the anger on his face. She did not like to see him so. "He's just a boy."

"Yes," he answered, leaning heavily on the stone that bound the veranda, still glowering. "And I'm just an Austrian."

Unfolding his telegram, Max commented without thought, "What's gonna happen's going to happen. Just make sure it doesn't happen to you."

Hitting his hand against the stone in an effort to control his anger, more willing to take the sting of physical pain than the knowledge of his friend's cowardice, the Captain snapped, "Max! Don't you ever say that again!"

"You know I have no political convictions," Max said, taken a bit aback. They had had such conversations before, without nearly so much passion. "Can I help it if other people do?"

"Oh, yes, you can help it!" He at last turned back to his guests, no longer focused on the spot where that boy had stood, feeling his anger melt away into fear, his voice weakening as the fear grew. "You _must_ help it."

It was no good to argue, Max knew as he walked away, beginning to read the telegram. He recognized the spark he saw fading in his friend's eyes. He had seen it all those years ago, at Agathe's funeral, seen it fail, and vanish for despair and the coldness that he hated to see in Georg.

The Captain's fury was beginning to subside as he leaned on the railing of the veranda, trying to calm himself with quiet breaths. His head drooped as he considered all that had happened, was happening. There was no hope, he knew in his mind: the _Anschluss_ was coming. It was only a matter of time. But still in his heart, he could protest, and cling blindly to whatever shreds of possibilities—

"Hello?" Elsa said quietly, pulling him back. Shifting his body a bit, he offered her only a silent gaze. "You're far away. Where are you?"

"In a world that's...disappearing, I'm afraid," he said, not bothering to conceal his anguish. He could almost not understand why he still hoped for Austria. But in his heart, he knew why—it was his home, and he would always cling to it.

"Is there any way I could bring you back to the world I'm in?" Elsa asked softly, drawing a bit of a smile to his lips. He began to search for the words to say, but the sound of shouting interrupted him. Bringing his attention to the lake, the din grew louder as a small boat drew into his vision, emerging from behind a group of trees.

There were his children—and their governess—sitting in a boat, making exquisite fools of themselves as they splashed their hands in the water, singing words he could not understand. They were dressed in those same ridiculous clothes as the children he had seen in those trees, and as he stalked toward the lake, he felt that sinking realization: he had seen his children. It did not bring any gladness, only a scowl.

He had reached the edge of the lake and was standing by the gate that lead on to the terrace, before any of his children even saw him. "Father!" they shouted, waving their arms happily as they began to stand. Their governess twisted from her position at the prow of the boat, Gretl sitting on her legs.

"Oh, look," she said, leaning close to Gretl, "it's your father!" Shifting Gretl from her lap to stand her in the boat, the governess stood as well. "Oh! Oh, Captain!" she shouted, clapping her hands together. "You're home!"

_She is _glad? he thought angrily, setting a hand on his hip impatiently. _Well, we will—_ Out on the lake, the boat began to rock, dipping from one side to another from the weight of those standing in it. His anger began to evaporate as it capsized at last, tossing every one of his screaming children and their governess into the lake. He almost had to grin at the sight of them all, paddling in the water, trying to swim in heavy clothes as though they were drowned rats. Despite the incredulity of the moment, it nearly melted his heart to see them so—silly.

At his ear, he heard a soft giggle, and cocking his head a bit, he could see Elsa had followed him. His anger surged again at the thought of this embarrassment, even if she was completely amused by the whole business. That was what it was—an embarrassment. His eyes fell upon the governess, and the rage burned in his chest like a cold fury as he waited for his bedraggled children to step onto the shore once again.


	10. How Wide the Divide

**Chapter 10: How Wide the Divide**

The Captain flung the iron gates open to allow the children on to the terrace, hardly hearing the bang of metal against stone. "Come out of that water at once!" he shouted, his eyes gazing over the seven children and their governess once again, all struggling and floundering in the water, laughing and screaming at once. And their smiles—he had not seen smiles like those since—

He silenced the thought. He would not feel that ache again, not when he had bound it so long. He would not be its slave now!

The governess—Fräulein Maria—was clutching a rope at the edge of the boat as she waded through the shallows, dragging the boat in her wake. "Oh!" she called, seeing the lady who stood beside the Captain. "You must be Baroness Schräder!"

Elsa bit back her laughter. Georg, she noticed, was not laughing, he was not even smiling as his children managed to work their way from the lake, one of the older girls helping the youngest children out. It was so laughable, and in a way so expected. They were all chattering at once, a din in which only a few words could be made out as they passed by their father, offering him smiles, glad to see him home.

"I'm soaked to the skin!" Louisa shouted, shaking her arms to rid them of the horrible wet sensation. All the children were dripping and walking slowly, the sandels on their feet waterlogged and difficult to walk in.

The Captain could hardly feel anything but the rage inside him, boiling and trying to find its cause. As his eyes fell on that tomboy of a governess, he knew it had been discovered. Digging fiercely in his pocket, his found his whistle; quickly, he blew a strong call on it, shrill enough to be heard easily over the cacophony of the children's voices. "Straight line!" he shouted, and they clumsily ran to their places, as though suddenly unused to them.

His steps were quiet and measured as he walked towards Gretl at one end. Yes, these were most definitely those _local urchins,_ as he had named them earlier. But where they had found these clothes—as he passed Louisa, he snatched a kerchief from her head to reveal her soaking wet braid, though he did not see her wince—where they had found these rags, he could not guess.

Maria could do nothing but frown, as she tied the boat down on the edge of the stone. She had hoped that the week away from his children would have prepared the Captain to see them in a different light, but she now knew herself wrong.

"This is Baroness Schräder..." the Captain began, directing his words at his children, though he threw a glance to his guest with a forced smile. As his eyes gazed over them another time, even that forced happiness faded "...and these," he continued, now speaking to Elsa, "are my children."

"How do you do?" Elsa said, genuinely pleased to meet the seven of them; if Georg wished her to be acquainted with them, then she would gladly do so, though she was rather glad she was not the one set to discipline them. The children had shivering, examining gazes in return for her smile, not sure what to make of her presence.

"All right," the Captain said quickly. "Go inside, dry off, clean up, change your clothes, report back here!" They still stood before him, not sure what to do. "Immediately!" That word was a dismissal that they all heard, and the children set off at a run, not the march he had taught them over the past years. Glancing once more to Elsa, at the very edge of his vision he could see the governess trying to follow them.

"Fräulein, you will stay here, please!" he snapped at her retreating back. She sighed, feeling the wrath that was bubbling within him, already seething at her. She knew she needed to speak to him about his children, but now—after they had fallen in the lake and embarrassed the Captain in front of his guest—was not the occasion she had planned.

"I, uh, think I'd better go see what Max is up to," Elsa said, letting her eyes drift from Georg to this young governess. She could not help but smile at the mishap. It confirmed every suspicion she had ever entertained about children: they were not worth it. In fact, they were more trouble than anything else.

And this girl, she seemed more a child herself than the one set to care for them. But Baroness Schräder could sense the anger in the Captain as well as Maria could, and not offering another word, she ambled off to the house, glad to leave the wet stone behind. She was not eager to see the display that was certain to follow, either.

Maria took a moment to breathe deeply before she turned to face the Captain. _I need to speak with him about his children,_ she reminded herself. _I cannot let him rule this conversation._

"Now, Fräulein," the Captain began, edging closer to her, "I want a truthful answer from you."

"Yes, Captain?" _What else does he expect from me? _she wondered to herself as the water continued to drip from her dress and face. _Does he not remember our first meeting?_ She let her thoughts grow quiet. There was no reason he should have held any memory of that; she was just his children's governess.

"Is it possible," he continued, coming nearer still, Louisa's kerchief held fiercely in his grasp as though he could wring the sudden unruliness of his children from it, "or could I have just imagined it—have my children by any chance been climbing trees today?" He knew the answer he would hear if she spoke in earnest; not only had he spotted Brigitta's long hair and face in a tree, but those flowered rags they wore as they dragged themselves from the lake, dripping as though they had taken baths—those he had seen in the trees as well.

"Yes, Captain," she answered simply, not bothering to wear the look of one being reprimanded. She had no regrets concerning her actions, only a clear conscience.

"I see," he said in a gruff voice as he nodded his head unhappily. Pinching his daughter's kerchief between his thumb and forefinger, he held it up in an examining manner. "And where, may I ask, did they get these, um, these, uh...?" _For that matter,_ he thought, _what the hell are these things _called?

"Play clothes," Maria supplied for him pleasantly.

"Oh, is that what you call them?" He could feel his hand beginning to shake, and his face line with his rage.

"I made them—from the drapes that used to hang in my bedroom."

"Drapes!" Oh, this was _rich!_ Crumbling the kerchief in his hand, he approached her almost violently until there was perhaps a meter of distance between them. Had a single moment of common sense ever entered this woman's mind?

"They still had plenty of wear left. The children have been everywhere in them."

"Do you mean to tell me that my children have been roaming about Salzburg dressed up in nothing but some old drapes!" he growled, letting the scrap of drapery fall to the already soaked stone below their feet.

"Mm-hmm," Maria said, nodding her head with a muted smile. "And having a marvelous time!"

"They have uniforms!" He stepped away, turned away from her. If he stayed by her side, he was afraid of what might happen. He did not control his anger very well, and he did not pretend to himself that he did.

"Straitjackets, if you'll forgive me," the girl said, speaking as though in an undertone, but clearly loud enough that he would hear.

"I will not forgive you for that," he snapped, glancing at her again with narrowed eyes. There was something about her, he noticed even in his anger. Standing there as though a child caught in a misdeed, she held herself as proud as anyone he had ever seen, demanding his attention and his consideration.

"Children cannot do all the things they're supposed to do if they have to worry about spoiling their precious clothes all the time." How could he not _understand?_

"I haven't heard them complain yet," he said proudly, crossing his arms behind his back. He had raised his children to be studious, not the whelps this woman expected.

"Well, they wouldn't dare. They love you too much," she exclaimed. But that was not all. "They fear you too much."

"I don't wish you to discuss my children in this manner," he said, his tone dismissive as he turned back from her once again.

"Well, you've got to hear from someone. You're never home long enough to know them." She had come to know them better in the past week than he had in all his years with them, all because of his fear, his terror at feeling the pain of loss again, of feeling its memory, and that truth was rapidly building to a rage within her as well.

"I said I don't want to hear any more from you about my children!" He turned his face over his shoulder to her slim frame. That courage and pride was still about her even as he declared the conversation finished.

"I know you don't, but you've got to!" She paused to breathe, and find another well-spring of courage. It came quicker than she had expected, speaking to this man. "Now, take Liesl..."

"You will not say one word about Liesl, Fräulein," he said, leaving the gate that lead to the lake to speak closely with her once more.

"She's not a child anymore," she said, coming nearer to him as well. "One of these days you're going to wake up and find she's a woman. You won't even know her. And Friedrich. He's a boy but he wants to be a man like you and there's no one to show him how."

"Don't you dare tell me about my son!" he snapped again, infuriated that this woman who had hardly known his children a week deemed it her place to tell him about their troubles and concerns.

"Brigitta could tell you about him if you'd let her get close to you," she continued, unwilling to listen to his stupid protests. "She notices everything."

"Fräulein..." he began, the cold knowledge of his only possible decision forming in his mind.

"And Kurt pretends he's tough not to show how hurt he is when you brush him aside—"

"That will do." He would have her hear him out eventually.

"—the way you do all of them. Louisa I don't know about—"

"I said, that will do!" he shouted, at last speaking over her words, yet still to no avail. Did she have no mind inside her head with which to know when her superiors wished her to be silent?

"—but someone has to find out about her, and the little ones just want to be loved." She ran up to him, her bravery overtaking her sense. "Oh, please, Captain, love them, love them all!"

"I don't care to hear anything further from you about my children!" He began to walk away, coldly furious. If all she could think of was to yell at him, then by God, he would deal with her accordingly.

"I am not finished yet, Captain!" she shouted at his back, still as firm as before, her hands curling into angered fists.

"Oh, yes, you are, Captain!" he snarled, turning on his heel to look back at her before he heard what he said. Her face was surprised, and a touch amused at his slip of the tongue. So she would mock him again. "Fräulein," he corrected himself. "Now, you will pack your things this minute"—he thought, but surely he was mistaken, that he heard a small snatch of song filtering out from the house—"and return to the Abbey—"

There it came again, and this time, he could pick out the words: " 'With the sound of music...' "

"What's that?" he asked as a high strain flew over the grass to meet him.

"It's singing," the governess replied matter-of-factly.

" 'With songs they have sung...' " the words continued, and the voices seemed nearly familiar to him.

"Yes, I realize it's singing," he said, more irritated by the moment, what with this governess and now this _noise_, "but who is singing?"

"The children," she answered quietly, suddenly frightened at his calm demeanor.

"The children?" he asked, raising one of his eyebrows at her as he turned completely towards her, willing himself to no longer hear whatever music they had found to torment him with. "My children do not sing."

"I—I taught them something to sing for the Baroness," she answered, spreading her hands a bit. Her anger had dissolved already, and she was not certain what to make of the quiet visage the Captain now wore.

"Oh, so you have taught them to do something other than roam about this city, dressed up in old curtains—old rags—embarrassing themselves?" he growled, kicking Louisa's kerchief on the drenched stone.

"I am teaching them how to be children, Captain! The little ones have hardly had a childhood since you've set them into such molds, and the older ones you've insisted grow up so quickly," Maria pleaded as her fear for herself drained away to fear for the children. Drawing even closer to the Captain, willing to try almost anything to force him to see the truth, she felt almost warmer near him, though she still wanted to shiver from the lake water that filled her hair and clothes.

"I am loving them, Captain, in the way that you should! They need your love, Captain, more than anything, and they know no other way to receive anything like it other than to do hideous things like putting glue on toothbrushes!"

"That will do, Fräulein!" he said again, his voice rising angrily, more than it had in the entire argument, and now Maria knew the hopelessness of continuing. "Now, you will march upstairs, where you will dry yourself off, pack your belongings, and then Franz will drive you back to the abbey, where I sincerely hope that you are _not_ more trouble than you have been here! Else, I pity the sisters."

Not waiting for her to object again, he stalked off into the house, leaving a trail of wet footprints into the entrance hall. Inside, he could hear the song clearly, coming from the drawing room. " 'My heart wants to sigh like a chime that flies from a church on a breeze,' " they sang, voices in perfect harmony, and he felt a sense of amazement that this young lady had taught them to sing so beautifully in the few days he had been absent. " 'To laugh like a brook when it trips and falls over stones on its way (on its way)...' " they continued as he gazed into the drawing room.

That music, it called to something inside him, a memory long buried and once treasured. A blurred face he had bidden himself to forget came once again, her dark hair trailing about her shoulders, and her eyes so clear, he felt he could stare into them forever and never reach their end. Hot tears burned in his own eyes, and he cursed himself for his weakness as he drew nearer the drawing room.

Just outside the room, his heart recoiled to see them standing in two lines, dressed in their uniforms with their hair dark and shining from the water that had so recently soaked it. They had been undisciplined in his absence, and he would not allow it to happen again! But Elsa, sitting back on the couch lazily, seemed almost enchanted by their performance, so he stood quietly, awaiting their finish. For her, he felt he could do almost anything.

" 'I go to the hills when my heart is lonely, I know I will hear what I've heard before.' " Liesl and Louisa found a high note that they held, floating above the words that continued. " 'My heart will be blessed with the sound of music, and I'll sing once more.' " Liesl, who had been playing an accompaniment on a guitar, worked her fingers in an ending riff, and the children fell silent.

"That was lovely," Elsa said, smiling a bit. "Don't you agree, Georg?" She had seen his shadow just outside the drawing room, and beckoned him to come in.

"Oh yes, quite lovely," he said in a flat tone, his eyes running between Elsa and his children, the latter shivering a bit at the anger they could still see in his eyes. "But that is quite enough for now, out for your walk. You need to dry off somehow before dinner." He could hear a quiet set of footsteps in the hall, surely the _former_ governess heading for her room—for the last time. _Well,_ he thought, _let them see her one more time—before she leaves them._

Liesl set the guitar carefully against the piano, and the children filed out calmly for a time, then once more lost all sense of decorum as they saw their governess. Beginning to rush toward her, they were stopped as the Captain set his whistle to his lips another time, sounding the signal for them to fall in their line. They faltered, so he called them again, and this time they fell in at attention hesitantly.

"Fräulein," he said gruffly, turning his gaze to rest on her, still dripping in the middle of the entrance hall, "you have one hour. At that time, or before if you can manage, as I told you before, Franz will drive you back to the abbey, where I wish you much luck in your quest to become a nun."

"Very well, Captain," she said quietly, bowing her head before she continued up the stairs.

"No, Father!" Marta said, jumping out of her place in line, running to grab her father's hand. His eyes back on his children, the blank expressions they typically wore at attention had faded, replaced with unhappy faces. "Please don't send Fräulein Maria away."

"Please, Father," Brigitta joined, stepping out of line, her dark eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. "Please don't."

"Silence," he commanded, and Brigitta stepped back, her forehead wrinkling in a hurt expression. Marta, though, did not move back; glancing down, he saw her eyes wide and unhappy, and her tiny hand curled tighter than before around his larger fingers. "Get in line, Marta," he said, extricating his hand from her grasp. "Now."

She rejoined her brothers and sisters solemnly, all of whom he could see were watching their governess trudge up the stairs to her room. Liesl, though, he was struck by, her face trying to hide some sense that was tearing at her, something that seemed so familiar, as though he had seen it on her before.

"Liesl," he snapped, "stop moping about. All of you, in fact. Now go on, take your walk, as I expected you to." They still stood, hesitating, the older children glancing from one to another. "Now!"

Gretl and Marta broke out in a run as they felt his anger, and Brigitta was walking quickly behind them as he broke his gaze on his children. But their faces—Kurt, Liesl, even Louisa's—he could not look at the pain that covered each child. Turning towards the drawing room, he saw Elsa had joined them in the hall, wondering just what all the fuss was about, perhaps when she had heard him calling them to attention. "Now, Georg," she said, sliding her arm beneath his to rub his back, trying to calm him, "was that really necessary?"

Glancing over his shoulder, he could catch the last of his children passing through the front door, drawing it closed. "Oh, I'm afraid it was," he said, turning back to Elsa and kissing her cheek. "I will not allow my children to be hooligans." Straightening from his stoop to reach her, he forced a smile, and found himself wishing he was not so afraid of the choice he had just made.


	11. Alone Once More

**Chapter 11: Alone Once More**

"But Father can't just send Fräulein Maria away!" Gretl said as soon as Liesl closed the front door. "He just can't!" In her eyes, tears began to form, balancing on her lower eyelids as she tried to hold them close. Liesl stooped down and wrapped her arms around the younger girl, hoisting her up to sit on her hip. She wanted to cry as well as Gretl did, but she bit her lip and swallowed. She could not do that yet; now, she needed to be strong, be the rock that her brothers and sisters could stand upon.

"Well, then maybe you should go tell Father what he can and can't do!" Louisa snapped, rubbing one of her own eyes. "Because he just sacked her!" No one had much to say after that, and no one had much of a heart to take a walk. The only sounds were birds whistling in the trees and Gretl's sniffles as she tried to keep from crying, but no one could find the words to fill the emptiness.

"Well, we've got to do something," Friedrich said after a minute, unable to stand the pounding quiet any longer.

"And just what do you suggest?" Louisa asked, listlessly making her way from the door in front of which the children still loitered to sit on the edge of a flowerbed. "Shall we go and beg him to let her stay? Do you really think he'll listen to us, since we know how kind Maria was to us? Of course not," she sneered, ripping a budding flower from the soil. One by one, she plucked at the petals, tossing them into the air and watching them drift on the breeze. "We're just his children."

"But what if we made it Father's own choice?" Brigitta said quietly, following Louisa and taking a seat beside her. "What if we could persuade him to keep her on by forcing him to that decision?"

"I'd like to see how you'd manage that," Louisa said, dropping the bald stem and setting her chin on the hand she balanced on her knee. "He's much too thick for your machinations to get through his skull."

"What do you mean, Brigitta?" Kurt asked, trying not to listen to the rumbling in his stomach. They had taken an early lunch in order to spend the day outdoors and the sun was working its way well towards the western horizon. But more than anything, he didn't want to hear Louisa's complaints any longer.

"We could make him realize that we won't have any other governess than Fräulein Maria," Brigitta said, her face brightening since their father had first ordered them into that dripping line on the terrace. Taking quick hold of her sister's wrist, she even smiled. "It could work, Louisa."

"Really?" Louisa asked, picking up her head, a tone of hope in her voice. "How?"

"It can only be a matter of time until Father has a new governess for us," Friedrich said, understanding Brigitta's idea. "Until then, we'll be on our own. Well, Liesl will be trying to keep us under control. But no one's going to stop us from doing anything. So we'll just use the tricks we played on the governesses on Father—even Baroness Schräder." He smiled at that thought. "And when we finally do get a governess, we'll go at her in full force. Eventually, he'll see she _has_ to come back!"

"Play tricks on Father?" Marta asked, looking at her brother with wide, frightened eyes. "Could we do that? Won't we get in trouble?"

Louisa's eyes sparkled at the suggestion, her mind already formulating even crueler tricks than running glue over a toothbrush. "Perhaps so, Marta, but I think you're right, Friedrich," she said excitedly. "Don't you agree, Liesl? Liesl?" she asked again as her older sister did not answer.

"Hmm?" Liesl was still trying to quiet Gretl's sobs. "Oh, yes, it does sound like a plan at least worth trying." Taking her free hand to brush a tear away from Gretl's face, she whispered, "I think I'd give anything to have Fräulein Maria stay."

"We could replace all her soap with curds," Louisa said to Brigitta, "or put glue on the soles of her shoes. I'd like to see her try to get her shoes off the carpet then!"

"But our governesses have always put their shoes in the wardrobe," Brigitta said. "Even Fräulein Maria, and she was hardly as neat and composed as any of the others. Besides, it wouldn't be difficult at all to pull shoes from the bottom of the wardrobe."

"Who said I was talking about a governess?" Louisa asked, smiling wickedly.

"Do—do you mean the Baroness?" Friedrich choked out, his face reddening at the thought.

"Well, why not?" asked Louisa. "Do you really think Father would have been as angry with Fräulein Maria as he was if the Baroness had not been there? If had been Uncle Max instead, I doubt we'd be worrying about this! Anyway, it was your suggestion to play tricks on her."

"Yes, but something like _that_?" Friedrich asked. "Even that's a bit much for you, Louisa."

"Bully for you, then," the girl snarled as she jumped to her feet. "I, for one, am willing to do whatever it takes, and willing to take the consequences."

"Consequences for what?" a voice asked as the front door opened. Brigitta got to her feet as well, feeling a sudden lump in her throat as they saw their governess step through the door for the final time. She wore the same hideous dress they had first seen her in, the burlap jacket settled on her drooping shoulders. "I do hope you're not already planning torments for your next governess. I understand I was let off quite lightly."

"Fräulein Maria," Marta cried at last, "please don't leave us. We love you too much!"

"Oh, Marta," she whispered, settling her carpetbag and guitar case on the stone on either side of her, freeing her hands to clutch Marta tightly, "I would stay if I could. You must understand that. I would stay here with you. But that is not my decision to make—it is your father's, and he is only doing what he thinks is best for you, no matter how much you and I may wholeheartedly disagree with him." Letting Marta from her embrace, she straightened up. "Before I go, though, I want a hug from each and every one of you!"

The children obeyed with surprising speed, all but Liesl and Gretl crushing her in a single large hug. Maria could feel Brigitta, pinned tightly to her by the others, choking on tears. "Now, I don't want to see any tears from you," she said as the children let her go and she could see the girl clearly. "I'm sure everything will work out for the best."

"How can you be sure?" Brigitta asked, not trying to hide the tears sliding along her cheek.

"You must have faith, dearest, faith that God is watching over you, that He will bring you right in the end. Here." She offered her arms to Brigitta, who took the embrace willingly, wrapping her arms about her _fräulein's_ waist, never wanting to release her.

"I don't want you to go," she whispered into Maria's arm.

"I have to," Maria answered, kissing the top of the girl's head before she loosened her grip. "And don't you cry either, Gretl." She took the youngest child from Liesl for a moment, holding her tightly and brushing her wet cheek with her lips before setting her on the ground. "And you, Liesl." It both pleased and pained her to see Liesl to steeled, so determined to be strong.

"We will all miss you, Fräulein," Liesl said, folding herself about the older woman. She wanted Maria to stay with an even greater ache than the rest of the children.

"No doubt as much as I will miss you." Now tears began to leak from even Maria's eyes as she brushed some of Liesl's mussed hair back over her shoulders. The sound of Franz bringing the car around to the front of the house was almost a welcome interruption. The sadness was clawing at her, and she feared to remain any longer.

"Fräulein," he said as he closed the driver's door, "it is time to go."

"Yes," she said quietly, twisting her way from Liesl's arms, then bending to take hold of her bag and guitar case. Walking quickly to the car, she did not look back. She _could_ not.

The butler held his face blank as he opened the back door to allow the postulant to climb in. It had been years, not since the death of Baroness von Trapp, that he had seen such joy in the seven children. As greatly as he valued order and discipline, almost as much as the Captain, he had taken pleasure in their mirth.

As the door snapped shut, Maria collapsed against the leather seat, biting her lip to maintain the silence of the sobs she had so chided the children for. She could not even look at them, remembering the pain written across every countenance while they begged her to stay. One final glance, and she knew she would not be able to follow this latest order. She knew she would march back into that house and offer the Captain another lashing with her tongue, shouting that if he wanted her to leave, he would have to call up his comrades from the Navy to drag her to the convent, because she was not leaving those children to his cold hands!

Oh, he simply did not understand! But how could he not? The anguish on each precious face as he held them at an arm's length, afraid of the pain that their memory would call up within him: it left in every child a greater ache than being struck. She could see that in every one. Her own childhood had been miserable, her mother dead, and her father—

She breathed quicker to avoid remembering her father, the slaps he set upon her face, the lashings on her arms and legs, the bones he had broken, and the bruises he had left. But with each bruise and scrape, a greater portion of her love for him ceased, until the night she loved him no more. The next morning, she had gone to the abbey, and left him forever.

Yet these children: they still loved their father with the recklessness that children should, and each time he thrust them further from him, they felt the same sting of each injury her father gave her, but they never came to hate him. Each morning, they rose with fading but eternal hope that one day, perhaps this day, would be the day their father came back to them. It was a pain that burned in each of them greater than the beatings of her father had ever injured her.

As Franz started the engine, she breathed easier. As the car began to roll forward, and the tears she was fighting subsided, her fear of seeing the children fading as she moved forth into her future.

The car kicked up dust into the children's faces, but none of them cried anymore. Without another word, they all knew their next actions, and they were determined. "Do you even know how to make curds?" Friedrich asked, turning his head to Louisa. "Because I dare say that sounds like a brilliant idea about now."

"Me?" Louisa said, glancing at her brother. "Positively not. But I'm sure we can find a nice _book_ somewhere that will tell us precisely how!" Brigitta was glowing with anticipation of a book hunt.

"Well, come on!" she shouted, running to the front door. "Let's not waste any time!" Louisa and Friedrich glanced at each other, sharing a mischievous grin, then followed her through. The rest hung back for a time, Gretl and Marta not understanding a word of what was being said, Liesl and Kurt considering the possibilities for a moment. But Kurt's face soon began to break out in the same grin that had graced Friedrich's face, one that Liesl returned in kind.

"Come along," she said to her youngest sisters as Kurt went on ahead, gently nudging them forward through the open door. She could already hear the first three children chattering excitedly in the library, running their eyes over the many titles. Bending down to whisper conspiratorially in their ears, she said, "Let's try to work out a plan to get back our Fräulein!"

No longer caring that they had no idea what was going on, Marta and Gretl ran on through, quickly followed by Liesl, who closed the door and dashed to the library, all eager to help in whatever way they could.


	12. A Problem Like Maria

**Chapter 12: A Problem Like Maria**

"Reverend Mother," Sister Margaretta called to the elder woman from the doorway to her office, "Maria is here to see you."

"Ah, thank you," she called, standing. "Please send her in." The book still lay open on her desk, so she slipped a hand beneath the front cover, bringing it closer. It was the record of their postulants, and near the bottom of that list, Maria Rainer's name was written in the girl's own confident hand. She had to smile, gazing at the names listed below Maria's, few even in the years that had passed since she had entered Nonnberg Abbey. Life in a cloister was hardly endurable, let alone appealing, to most.

To the side of the name Maria Rainer, though, in the Reverend Mother's notation, was a question mark. From the beginning, she had found herself doubting not Maria's desire to either become a nun or follow God's will, but whether or not the will of God had truly lead her to Nonnberg. Oh, she was certain that if Maria were offered the possibility, she would jump at the chance to take her vows, but even if it had been her time, the Reverend Mother found herself questioning the wisdom in offering that chance to Maria.

Sister Margaretta held the door open for the young postulant, whose head was bowed, whether in thought or shame, the Reverend Mother did not know. "Thank you, Sister," she said, nodding toward the nun. Sister Margaretta did not argue with the dismissal; she dropped a bit of a curtsy, and gave Maria's arm an affectionate squeeze before she closed the door.

"Well, don't just stand there, child," the old nun said, beckoning the girl forward. She came with a halting run, her skirts swishing about her knees.

"Reverend Mother," she whispered, dropping to her knee to kiss the woman's ring. It was so strange to be back in the abbey, even while it was so familiar. Wearing her wimple and habit instead of her dress that allowed her to out pace many of the children, walking rather than running, holding her tongue to prevent songs from alighting into the air...

"Don't sit there all day," the Reverend Mother chided lightly, turning Maria's chin upwards. She hated what she saw in Maria's eyes: despair. It was not in the girl's nature to be despondent, yet at this moment, she was.

Maria drew herself up from her knee, and at the Reverend Mother's glance, perched herself on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. "Now then," the Reverend Mother continued, circling her desk to sit opposite Maria, "I understand Captain von Trapp has sent you back to us."

"Yes, Mother," Maria said, the guilt peeking through her words. She no longer held her head as high, letting it drop as if she meant to examine the grain of the desk in front of her.

"Why, Maria? I cannot imagine you not being able to manage children, even though there were seven. I thought you would have quite loved them."

"Oh, I did, Mother—I mean, I _do_," Maria began, her words confused as she looked up to the nun once more, "I mean, he didn't send me away because I could not get along with the children."

"Well, then why would he dismiss you?" the Reverend Mother asked. "From what I gathered, the governesses he has dealt with in the past have caused him nothing but grief. Did the children disapprove of you in some way?"

"No, Mother," Maria said, clasping her hands beneath the fabric of her habit. "At least, I—I don't think they did. I don't believe I gave them any reason to." There, she had felt it once again, that strange, almost burning sensation in her stomach that made her fingers tremble as her thoughts turned back to the Von Trapps, to the Captain.

"There _must_ be a reason, child, for your early return. Tell me why."

"I disobeyed him, Mother," Maria said after a moment, collecting herself. "And I though I know I should be apologetic, I am not sorry that I did what I did."

"What was it that so upset him, Maria?"

"I refused to keep his ridiculous rules, Mother." The anger that Maria had felt earlier that day as she stood dripping on the terrace, shouting the needs of his children at him surged upwards once more. She wanted to scream, to let out the anguish that boiled in her once again. "Oh, Mother, it was terrible—he has them standing in lines at attention, coming when he calls them by a whistle, following orders like he was commanding them as sailors on a ship!"

"My goodness," the Reverend Mother said, surprised. "I had no idea."

"It's awful! He doesn't allow them time to be children. Even the youngest girls, Marta and Gretl, he demands perfection from them. They're only seven and five, Mother. And his older children, he doesn't see that while he wants for them all to be adults, they've no one to show them how to find those roles!"

"Do you miss them, Maria? You seem to care very much for them."

"I feel as though I left a piece of myself with those children, Mother," Maria said, her proud, strong posture vanishing as she collapsed to hold her face her hands, surprised by the sweat between each of her fingers. "I feel as though I have betrayed them. They had no one else, not even their father."

"What do you mean, child?" The Reverend Mother stood and quickly walked around the desk to set her hands on Maria's shoulders. She could feel the sadness rising through the layers of pain within Maria, drawing itself out, as though her presence gave strength to Maria, the strength and courage she needed to allow her ragged sobs release. "It's perfectly fine to cry, Maria."

"It's as if he's there, with them, but at the same moment, he is as distant as though he died with their mother." Maria stopped her words to wipe her tears on the sleeve of her habit. "But somehow, despite their knowledge that he has pushed them so very far away from him, they still hope that one day, he will come back to them, and be the father they remember and love. And that hope is killing every one of them, Mother."

"Is that all, Maria?" the Reverend Mother asked after the young woman had been silent a few moments. She took her hands from Maria's shoulders and folded them into her sleeves, walking back to sit behind her desk once more. "Is that all you wish to tell me?"

"Yes, Mother." But even as Maria spoke, the Reverend Mother could see in her face that it was not only that. Something else gleamed in Maria's eyes, some spark that the woman was trying to hold down and extinguish, as if by holding it tightly enough, she could forget that it had been born within her. "As much as I want to help the children, Mother, I feel as though this is where I belong. I am home once again."

Yes, the longer she looked at the postulant, the longer she took to recall all that had happened in her time in the abbey, and closer she examined the expression on her face, the more she knew—it was not the will of God for Maria to remain in the abbey._ I cannot send her away,_ the old nun knew, _for there is nowhere for her to go. She must go eventually, and find the path that God wishes for her to tread. But she must find it for herself._

"I thank you, Maria," she said, shoving her chair back to stand, immediately wishing she had not done it so abruptly. Maria stood as well, quickly tucking her arms into her habit and bowing her head. "I hope you will return to your life as a postulant with little difficulty, though I presume that with only a week away from us, you will not have grown too accustomed to the luxuries of a baron's home?"

"Not at all, Mother," Maria said, the intended humor of the statement lost on her.

"Then go on, my child, and spend some time at prayer." Dropping a tiny curtsy at her dismissal, Maria turned and walked to the door. As her hand fell upon the handle, though, the Reverend Mother spoke again. "Do be wise, Maria, in your choices. God will always provide a path for you to follow, but the way to that path may not be clear."

"Yes, Reverend Mother." Nodding her head, Maria opened the door and left the room, allowing the older woman to sift through her thoughts once again.

Sister Margaretta still stood outside the door, waiting for Maria. Though many of the other nuns, notably Sister Berthe, were convinced beyond all reason that Maria would never be one of them, Sister Margaretta always had hope for the young girl. She felt it would do the older women quite a bit of good to have Maria's spirit running through the halls of the abbey permanently.

"Well?" she asked, falling in stride beside Maria. "How did it go?"

"About as well as I expected," Maria said, trying not to betray her lie. Sister Margaretta said nothing, but merely observed the redness of her eyes and the stain of tears on the corner of her habit. "The Reverend Mother has instructed me to spend some time at prayer, to take time to find the path that God wishes for me to follow."

"It seems to be wise, Maria. Come, I will walk with you to your room. It has been far too quiet about this place without your voice to fill it."

"Thank you, Sister," Maria said, smiling for the first time since the Captain had dismissed her. "I don't think anyone has ever confessed to missing my voice. More often, they only wish for it to fall silent."

"We seem to have only extremes with you, Maria," Sister Margaretta said, glowing with warmth at the welcome sight of Maria's face. It was not right for her to be so downtrodden and glum. At the same time, though, it was the joy Maria took in life that fueled any doubts of Sister Margaretta's over her future in the abbey. "We either have too much of your voice or too little; you are causing us either uncommon joy or uncommon trouble."

"Yes. I don't think Captain von Trapp believed it could be possible when I told him that I caused far more trouble here than I did in his house in the first ten minutes."

"Ten minutes!" the nun exclaimed, dropping a hand on to Maria's wrist. "What on earth did you do, child?"

"I entered a room he would prefer had remained undisturbed," Maria said, trying to recall exactly the words the Captain had used. "And I really did speak the truth to him—compared to all you have endured of me here, I was quite innocent there!"

"I do not think I can believe that," the nun said, letting Maria's arm fall from her grasp. "But we have reached your room, Maria—and this is as far as I believe I can journey with you."

"Well, thank you very much for your company," Maria said, embracing the loving woman quickly. With the death of her own mother at such a young age, Maria had starved so long for the maternal warmth she could hardly remember, but about Sister Margaretta, she felt she could sense it once more.

"Pray carefully," the nun said, giving Maria one more smile before she continued down the corridor, her measured step not belying her concern. Opening the door to her room just wide enough for her slim body to slip through, Maria allowed her cheerfulness to fade. She did not wish to worry anyone in the abbey—well, perhaps Sister Berthe, but aside from her, no one.

As the door closed firmly behind her, those same confusing emotions she had battled for a time in the Reverend Mother's office surfaced, running through her mind even as she tried to hold them at bay. "No," she whispered, not understanding why she chose to speak, "none of this matters—I am going to become a nun. My future lies in becoming a daughter of Christ, of devoting myself exclusively to his service."

_Then why are you drowning in doubt? _she asked herself as she knelt before the crucifix in her room. Crossing herself quickly, she turned her face upwards, searching for God in the afternoon light that spilled through her window.

"Father," she whispered, "I do not understand. I have for years believed that this is what you wish for me—to enter your service in this abbey, but already in this short week past, I find myself growing weak, and yielding to the temptation of my flesh." Temptation was certainly the right word for it, the images and hopes that had flitted through her mind before she was scarcely aware of them.

"He does not deserve any of it," she bit out almost violently, "none. He does not deserve what he already has—the unending affection of his children. Why should I but offer him more to turn aside? Father, I am so afraid..."

* * *

Elsa knew Georg well enough to realize when he desired conversation and when he did not, and from the anger burning in his eyes at the moment, she knew he wished only for silence. The nine of them, herself, Georg, and his children—Max was mercifully out, conducting some sort of business in Salzburg—sat in a quiet that was broken only by the clink of silverware on china, or the setting of a glass on the table. Were it not for the necessity of dinner, Elsa doubted any of the children would have been there at all. 

She sat at Georg's right hand, next to his eldest child—Liesl was her name, if she remembered correctly. She hadn't given too much attention to the children's whisperings from one to another, and Georg had not introduced them to her individually as yet. He was waiting for his rage to subside; she could feel it. She had only garnered her minimal knowledge from the sobs of one of the little girls, crying for "Fräulein Maria," and one of the other girls snapping that Liesl would have to serve as her comforter.

Stranger still, Elsa found she hardly recognized the man she sat by. She had known he was not the same in his home that he was in Vienna for he despised the city too well to remain unchanged there, but the magnitude of that change had caught her by surprise. The visage and appearance were the same, but his soul—it seemed as though in his own home, it did not exist for fear of the pain it might find.

The Captain could hardly raise his head, for if he did, his eyes directed him to stare into _her_ empty chair. He would not ask his children to suffer his gaze, not as he saw the complete sadness that settled over each of them. Even Louisa, that one child who had hardly wept when he had brought the news of her mother's death, the one who he could see had built walls nearly as effectively as himself—even she was consumed by the heartache.

He doubted the children had taken a single one of their meals in silence during his absence; the quiet they offered him was no longer custom, but forced. Their faces had not the blankness he had grown accustomed to, but that terrible sadness, as though something so very important to them was missing. Or someone.

At his right, he could hear Marta still trying to hold in broken sobs that she had been struggling against since the afternoon. He spared her a glance, and felt his heart wrenched at the despair on her countenance. "Marta," he said as he dropped his fork into his salad, finding the words through the cracking of his voice he could sense coming, "what is the matter _tonight?_"

She glanced up from her hardly touched supper, her eyes large and shining with tears, and set on him for only a second before she turned down to the foot of the table—and its empty seat. "I want Fräulein Maria to come back," she whispered, letting her own utensil fall to the table to wipe her face with her hand.

"I am afraid that is out of the question," he said, taking up his own fork once again to continue at his salad. He would find his courage in his anger, courage enough to do what he believed best. "I will not have my children being watched over by anyone so unruly as—" But Marta's tears had not been comforted, for they came quicker than ever.

Farther down the table, Louisa allowed her tears to flow freely, not bothering to fight the shuddering sobs in her throat. Gretl was not far behind, and soon even Brigitta and Liesl's faces were wet, with the salty water dripping onto the linen table cloth. He almost expected his sons to fall apart and begin to weep with their sisters, but they only stared downwards at their plates, as though offering him their eyes would betray their pain.

"This is the second evening that you have begun this—crying at the dinner table!" he snapped, taking a moment to throw his napkin from his lap onto the table. He could sit there no longer, he _had_ to stand before the absurdity of it all caught him at last. "If you can't eat dinner properly, then off to bed with you, by all means. If you're all so eager to grow up, then learn to eat like adults. Come back if you feel you can!"

Marta and Gretl did not wait, but leapt out of their chairs to scurry into the hall, neither silencing their crying. Liesl followed after them, and after a moment, even Kurt stood from his half-finished plate. Brigitta and Louisa offered one another a strange glance, one the Captain could not read, but they stood to leave as well.

The only child still sitting, Friedrich, eyed his plate for a few seconds longer, then turned his face to the Captain. "I'm sorry, Father," he said, pushing his chair back to stand, no apology in his gaze. "I can't stay here any longer."

"Fine," the Captain said, drawing his chair out and settling in his seat. "Just go to bed, now, and I can only hope that in the morning, you will all remember yourselves!"

"Yes, Father," the boy said, glancing at the man almost sadly before quitting the room.

The Captain tried not to nurse his anger, his wounded pride in his progeny. These were not the same children he had left that evening a week ago, who had been ordered and cold. No, these were the children that had danced about their governess's room during a thunderstorm, that had been dumped into a lake and come out happier for it.

The silence had fallen again, only broken by the muted sound of seven pairs of feet ascending the stairs to take to their beds. As he sat, it came once again unbidden, the same question that had come in the afternoon as he dismissed their _fräulein_, the worry over his choice. He hardly felt Elsa lean closer to him and rest her hand lightly on his wrist. "Now _that_, Georg," she said, finally unafraid to speak, since the man could not send her to bed without her supper, "that really was uncalled for. They're only children."

"Perhaps," he answered as he dropped his napkin into his lap and wrapped his fingers around his fork rather tighter than was necessary. "But I am their father, and I will hold them to the discipline that I deem necessary." Spearing a leaf of arugala, he began to eat, and Elsa tried to draw him out of his reverie no more.

* * *

"I hate crying," Louisa said, still rubbing her face as she stomped upstairs. "I really do." 

"Well, no one _made_ you," Brigitta said. Her own face was dry now, but her eyes were still red. The front of her blue dress had the drippings of tears that she had not been able to catch with her fingers. "It's your own fault if you did."

"Still," Kurt said, rubbing his stomach as he felt it begin to ache from his half-missed dinner, "it worked rather well, even if it wasn't planned."

"Oh, stuff it!" Louisa snapped, stopping on a step. Though she wanted to dry her face, she felt she was only doing more harm with all her scrubbing. "You didn't have to make a fool of yourself."

"That's enough," Liesl said at the top of the staircase, ushering the little girls into their room. Glancing down into the entrance hall, she spoke lower. "We're going to have enough trouble doing this as it is without your arguing. I'll put Gretl and Marta to bed. And when I come back, I hope you are as well."

"We will be, Liesl," Brigitta said, turning to Friedrich. Not only was her appearance strikingly similar to her, but at times, Brigitta could act precisely like their mother. Her gazes often said more than any of her brothers and sisters could express with a thousand words. It was the reason their father never had the heart to truly punish her.

"I know," Friedrich said, rolling his eyes. "I suppose I'll just have to hope that Kurt doesn't make too much noise."

"I don't!" the younger boy shouted, but Louisa smacked his arm hard, to a whimper from him.

"Be quiet!" she hissed, opening the door to her room. "Do you want Father to come up and wonder what's going on?"

"No," he said, his eyes dropping.

"Then hush up!" she said, slipping into her room, Brigitta not far behind her to close the door.

"What makes girls so bossy?" Kurt asked as he and Friedrich walked to their bedroom. "Do they ever change?"

"How would I know?" the older boy asked, opening the door for his brother. "Even Fräulein Maria demanded our obedience.

"Do you really think it will work?" Kurt asked quietly as the door closed behind Friedrich. "I mean, do you really think we'll convince Father to send for Fräulein Maria again?"

"I don't know," Friedrich said, crossing the room to his wardrobe. He opened it and searched for his pajamas, then began to unbutton his jacket. "All I know is that I don't want to sit around and wait for him to find a new governess, then be off to Vienna again. Now, just let me be."

Liesl put her youngest sisters to bed without much fuss, though Marta wanted to remain awake, protesting that she could be of some help in whatever Friedrich, Louisa, and Brigitta were about to do. "Yes, you can be," Liesl said, bending over the little girl to kiss her forehead. "You can go to sleep quietly, and never mention what is about to happen."

"But I want to do something!" she pleaded, trying to sit up, only for Liesl to hold her shoulders down and tuck her blankets in around her.

"And you can do something," Liesl said. "You can stay here, and go to sleep. You'll fall asleep on your feet if you were to go help them. Look at Gretl." She stepped aside for Marta to have a clear view of her sister, who was already dreaming. "So, try to sleep soon."

Marta frowned, but stopped arguing and lay back, pulling her sheets and quilt tight around her body. Walking to the door, Liesl paused long enough to snap the lamp off, then turn back for a final look at her resting sisters. Smiling sadly, she closed the door behind her. Whatever they were about to do, it seemed almost unfair that the consequences would be visited upon Gretl and Marta as well as themselves.

She slowed outside the boys' room, but continued on without glancing in. Friedrich was old enough to keep Kurt in line if he put his mind to it, and she knew that tonight of all nights, the boy would have the confidence to do so. Opening the door to her room, she was surprised by the silence that greeted her, even though she expected it.

Louisa and Brigitta had changed into their nightgowns quickly, not even bothering to brush their hair out of their braids. Donning her own nightgown in silence, Liesl climbed into her own bed, wishing for a moment she could sleep as soundly as they were. As a glance at her clock told her the time was half past eight, she sighed quietly. Reaching over to her bedside table, she switched on her lamp and reached for her book, hoping the light would not keep either of the two girls awake.

The sheets and blankets that pooled about her waist were warm and welcome on the unseasonably cool summer's night. She could only pray that the coolness of the air and the hardness of the wall that she pressed her back against would keep her aware, if the book could not. Brigitta had recommended it to her, certain that she would enjoy it. Liesl hoped she would, but neither read as much nor took as much pleasure in doing so as Brigitta. But she had almost six hours to pass in silence, waiting for the appointed time to arrive, so she dutifully opened the volume and began to read. _'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife...'_


	13. Miscreants in the Night

**Chapter 13: Miscreants in the Night**

_' "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I_ had _begun." '_ Liesl's eyes were bleary and her mind muddled, but she was enthralled with the book, and loath to admit it to Brigitta, who would only offer her a knowing gaze. "Who knew English authors could write so well?" she mumbled to herself, rubbing at the exhaustion she felt in her eyes.

Her sight fell on the clock: ten past two in the morning. "At last," she whispered, slipping in a piece of paper that Brigitta often left in her novels between the pages to mark her place. As fascinated as she was with the story of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy and all the others—_' "Your mother will never see you again if you do _not_ marry Mr. Collins, and I will never see you again if you_ do_," ' _Mr. Bennet had said, and she had nearly laughed aloud when he did—she could hardly remember portions of the novel, she was so tired.

Liesl had nearly drifted off but once, around eleven, when she had heard heavy steps journeying toward her room.

_Fighting panic, she switched off her lamp and tucked the book beneath her pillow and head, her finger stuck in her place. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep just as the door to the room opened, the hall light spilling over her._

_As the door swung inward, she realized that letting her eyes fall shut had been a mistake; she could feel the exhaustion clawing at her, trying to drag her into sleep. Shifting a bit to turn her face to the wall, she peeled her eyes open, letting them wander from one thing to another, anything to remain awake. Those steps sounded again as whoever had interrupted the quiet closed the door, allowing the darkness to prevail once again._

_Lifting her head to glance at her clock, just visible in the dregs of moonlight filtering through the drapes and clouds, Liesl sat up, not trusting herself to stay aware lying beneath her sheets. They were far too comfortable and her eyelids were far too heavy. She resolved to sit in the silence and darkness for five minutes, until she could be reasonably assured that the visitor, her father she assumed from the weight and caution of the steps, would not be coming back. The time passed, and so she let herself fall back into the light, the novel, and the machinations of Lady Catherine, Miss Bingley, and Mr. Wickham._

Liesl slid out of bed, glad of the carpet that lined the floor to warm her bare feet. Louisa's bed sat directly opposite the room from hers, so she hurried across, and laid a hand on her sister's mouth before shaking her shoulder. Louisa had been known to waken yelling well chosen profanities, and she did not want her six hours of sitting up to be wasted by her sister's vices.

The girl's eyes opened, gleaming in the pale moonlight, narrowed and angry at the first moment, but remembering after a second. Lifting her hand, Liesl whispered, "It's a bit past two. Will you go wake Friedrich?"

"Sure," Louisa said quietly, swinging her feet out of her bed to set them on the ground. Dropping to her knees, she thrust her hands into the space between her bed frame and the floor for a few moments, then triumphantly removed a pair of house slippers in one hand, and a small object in the other. "What?" she asked as Liesl wrinkled her forehead while she tugged the slippers on and slipped the object into one of her nightgown's pockets. "Do you think I'd go around the downstairs barefoot?"

"Sometimes, I don't know _what_ to think of you," Liesl sighed, not bothering with what else her sister had. "Now, go wake your brother." She shoved Louisa toward the door, then busied herself with waking Brigitta. The girl was harder to wake than Louisa, as she was a heavy sleeper, but she could be guaranteed to come to the world without a sound.

"Is it time already?" she asked quietly while she sat up, feeling the hair that jetted out from her dark braid on all sides.

"A little later than we planned actually," Liesl said. "Come on." She offered a hand and pulled her younger sister from her bed. Brigitta, she saw, had planned where Louisa had not—she still wore her stockings from the previous day.

"Did you enjoy it?" Brigitta asked as she walked toward the door.

"Hmm?" Liesl tried to say as she yawned, stretching her arms as her mouth opened wide in the gape.

"The book I gave you, Pride and Prejudice." Liesl's light still glowed on her table, where Brigitta could just make out one of the thin slips of paper she left in her books marking a place very near the end. "You seem to have gotten quite far in it."

"Yes," Liesl said, dropping her arms heavily. "It was lovely, really, which I hadn't expected."

"I suppose you wouldn't care to hear 'I told you so'?" Brigitta teased with a grin.

"You're right, I wouldn't, because as much as I liked it, I would prefer to have read when I wasn't trying to keep myself awake in silence for nearly six hours. That is also the reason why I am not acting like yourself, and remaining awake to finish it. I would rather like to remember the rest of what happens."

The door to their room swung open a bit, and Louisa's head poked in. "Are you ready yet, 'Gitta?" she asked, slipping into her the patterns of her childhood as she still fought the last vestiges of sleep. Louisa, for many years, had used pet names for most of her siblings; until the day their mother died, in fact, she herself had been "Louie" to both their parents. But that day, her mirth had disappeared, and all her strange names along with it.

"Oh, yes, sorry," Brigitta said, blinking hard, trying to wake herself. "Well, enjoy it when you do finish it, Liesl." Turning to go to her sister and brother—she could just see Friedrich behind Louisa's bushy braid in the dim light of Liesl's lamp—she stopped to give her oldest sister a hug. "I hope you get some sleep," she whispered.

"Thank you," Liesl said, wrapping her arms around Brigitta's shoulders. "But off with you, now." Brigitta smiled up at her, then ran lightly to her siblings out in the hall. As the door closed, Liesl sighed. As much luck as she wished the girls and Friedrich, she was glad it was _they_ who were performing the main part of the work. Collapsing on her bed, she barely had time enough to catch the switch on her lamp before she fell asleep, and began to dream of her mother.

"So what now?" Friedrich asked, hardly able to make out his sisters scurrying ahead in the dark hallway. "We're up and sure to be thrashed if we're caught, but what do we do?"

"Well, we won't be caught if you're quiet," Louisa whispered. "But first, we need that book again."

"I don't understand why we didn't just take it with us this afternoon," Friedrich said, still grumpy at the early hours.

"Would you prefer to have risked Father noticing it was gone, and _thrashing_ us for sure?" Louisa asked, sticking her tongue out at her brother in the darkness. "I doubt it. You remember where it was in Father's library, Brigitta?"

"Yes," the younger girl answered, glad a serious argument had been avoided. Friedrich and Louisa could battle over anything if they made no effort to avoid it. "We'll have to double-check what we need, but I'm sure it's all in the kitchen."

"The only question is will we be able to find it all," Friedrich said, quieter than before. "We're hardly ever been in the kitchen; it's not a place Father likes for us to be."

"Bully for Father right now!" Brigitta said, harsher than she normally spoke. "Considering the time and what we're about to do, I'm surprised you're worried about where Father likes us to go."

"I just meant it might take us a while to find our way around it!"

"Be quiet!" Louisa snapped. "First of all, let's just get downstairs and get that book." They descended the staircase without any trouble, all three grateful that the steps did not creak as they might have in an older house. Each took measured strides, sliding their feet to the front of each step before moving cautiously to the next.

"Come on," Brigitta whispered as they reached the foyer, her hand beckoning her brother and sister to follow her, though they could not even see their own fingers in the darkness.

"Ow!" Louisa muttered as her hip slammed into a table along the wall. The bang of the wood against the wall echoed louder than their hearts in their chests as they stopped, waiting for another rending of the silence from above, for some person to have been awakened by the din. But the quiet was intact, and they began to breathe again.

"Watch yourself," Friedrich said angrily, catching her arm to guide her away from the wall.

"I bloody well can't," she whispered back just as irritated, "if I can't see _anything_!"

"Can you two stop bickering? We'll turn on a lamp once we get to the library," Brigitta said, now quite glad of the darkness; it allowed her to roll her eyes without any comment. For the rest of the walk, they went in silence, their ears open for any sound but their own muted feet.

"Almost there," Louisa said, sliding her hand along the wall. "Just a few more steps..." Beneath her fingers, the wall gave way, turning a corner. "Here we are." Brigitta rushed ahead of her siblings, almost running even in the darkness. She knew every inch of the room, where each chair sat, where the desk stood, almost how many steps would take her to the beginning of the row of bookcases.

"There!" she whispered triumphantly as her hand found the switch on the lamp and set it ablaze. She hadn't even tapped the desk with her leg before she had her fingers around the lamp. The light fell across their eyes too quickly, and each of them winced, Louisa throwing her arm up to shield her face.

"Now that we're blinded," she said testily, but trailed off as she glanced at the bookshelves through her burning vision. "Where was that book?"

"Right here," Brigitta said, raising her hand to a shelf at her eye level. She pulled out a worn book, the corners of its covers bent from use. Though she was not about to argue with its presence, Brigitta could not understand why such a book would be in her father's library. He would have no use for it, and it looked too old to be one of the servants'. Setting aside her curiosity, a first for her, she flipped it open, searching for the paper she had slid inside to mark what they had found earlier.

"Come farther into the light," Friedrich said, stepping aside for Brigitta to set the book on the desk, in clear view of the light. Spreading the book open under the gleam of the lamp, her fingers ran along the recipe.

"For 'farmhouse curds'," she said, "we'll need milk and buttermilk, and some muslin. Do you think we'll find all that in the kitchen?"

"What is muslin?" Friedrich asked, peering over Brigitta's shoulder, only to throw his shadow on the page. Sighing, he stood back. "I mean, it doesn't sound like it has anything to do with food."

"I asked Liesl," Louisa said, leaning across the desk to try and read the words upside down. "She said it's a fine fabric. I guess that's the point, if we want to strain out the remaining liquid. If we can't find that, we'll just use something similar. But the rest, we'll no doubt find there. They seem co—common..." Her words stopped as she turned her head upwards. "Did you hear something?"

Brigitta and Friedrich craned their necks up, listening carefully—and there it was again, the distinct sound of feet, heavy in the hallway above and moving to descend the stairs.

"Now what?" Brigitta whispered, fear in her voice. "We'll be seen!"

"Oh, really," Friedrich said, pushing her down to the floor, "for someone so clever, you've no common sense. Now crawl under there!" He pointed beneath the desk and she scrambled beneath it obediently. "You too, Louisa." For once, Louisa did not grumble at her brother's request, but dashed around the desk to squeeze into the space that the chair left.

"The book," Brigitta said, but Friedrich had already reached up for it, switching off the light and sliding the tome off the desk into his arms, his finger marking the page as he clutched it to him.

"Move over," he hissed, and Louisa scrunched herself closer to her sister, forming a pocket for Friedrich. The feet had reached the entrance hall, and now even their breaths seemed too loud, their hearts more than pounding drums. Brigitta tucked her feet into the folds of her nightgown and buried her face in her arms, afraid she could not control her gasps for air. Louisa settled her arm around the younger girl's shoulders, pulling her close as they shared in the same fear.

Friedrich tried to think of some reason, some excuse that their father might believe. None sprang to his mind—there _was_ no reason for them to be out at half past two in the morning, except for making some sort of mischief. That would not be tolerated by their father in the least. Glancing to his sisters, he fancied he saw them shivering in the darkness.

But, it was strange, for as the feet passed the library—and it was with relief the children heard that, for perhaps their absences from their beds had not been discovered—Friedrich heard whistling. And those steps were not the steps of a military man, but of just a man. "Oh," the man said to himself, his voice echoing lightly in the house, "I do hope the cook has left some of that delicious strudel from this afternoon. 'Tis one of the trademarks of Georg's house, the excellent treats."

Friedrich did not realize his hand clutched Louisa's upper arm so tightly until she reached to pull his fingers from her. "It's only Uncle Max," she whispered, still holding Brigitta tightly.

"I wouldn't say _only_," Friedrich retorted, dropping his hand to rest atop the book against his chest. "He'll not come looking for us, but we'd better keep quiet all the same." Louisa did not argue, but he thought he glimpsed her nodding.

The sound of feet drifted toward the kitchen, and from the hallway, a light spilled out as the clattering sound of dishes pounded in each child's ears. "Oh, rubbish," they heard his voice say as the light switched off. "It really is completely unfair—denying a hardworking man one of the few joys in his life!" Louisa had to bite her lip to stop an inane urge to giggle.

His steps passed the library, their hearts stopping again; Friedrich huddled close to his sisters, feeling Brigitta tremble in Louisa's embrace and wondering that he did not shake so much himself. But slowly, the heavy fall of his feet wound its way up and towards his room, and the silence dropped.

He began to scramble out, but Brigitta reached for his arm with cold fingers. "Wait a few minutes," she whispered, "just to make sure he's really gone."

"It's Uncle Max," he said, louder than her as he wrenched his arm from her grasp. "He's probably asleep already."

"Please, Friedrich," she said grabbing hold of him again. "Just to be safe—wait just a few minutes. We'll have more time than we'll need, I'm sure of it, and I don't want all this to be ruined because we were too impatient."

The boy just sighed, and relaxed against the side of the desk, rubbing his hands together. It was cold throughout the entire house, and the sleeves of his shirt were not long enough for him to slide his fingers inside. "Five minutes," he agreed, drawing up his knees around the book as his hands began to tremble with Brigitta's shared fear.


	14. Planning and Doing

**Chapter 14: Planning and Doing**

The minutes passed quickly, if tensely, and it was with gratitude that the children abandoned their hiding place. Joints popped from the pressure of their cramped positions as they stood about the desk, snapping the desk lamp on once more to reread the recipe. "Buttermilk and regular milk," Louisa said, tapping her fingers on the desk absently. "And a wooden spoon. Why wooden?"

"How should we know?" Friedrich asked. "There's probably a reason, but does it really matter _why_? Let's just get this over with, so we can get some sleep tonight."

They clung to the wall as the crept towards the kitchen, hoping to avoid a repeat of Louisa's encounter with the table in the foyer. But they had no choice: they were utterly unacquainted with this part of the house, and did not trust themselves to simply walk. "I think..." Brigitta whispered, feeling a smooth surface beneath the searching fingers of her right hand as she clutched Louisa's hand tighter. "I think we've made it. It feels like tile on the wall now, instead of wood."

The kitchen was dim as they entered, and filled with unfamiliar shapes that cast shadows on the floor. The only light came from the slight snatches of moonlight breaking through the thin drapes and the slats of the shutters. "Here," Friedrich said, dropping Louisa's hand and shoving the book into her arms. He walked across the room slowly, picking his way around an island, a plain table, and several chairs.

At the window, he pulled the drapes apart and thrust back the shutters, and the moonbeams poured in, bathing the room in a celestial, gloomy light. "I don't think it would be wise to switch on the lights," he said, returning to his sisters across a path he could now discern with his eyes eyes as well as his feet.

"For once," Louisa said, offering him a smile, "I agree with you."

"Well, it had to happen sometime."

Not answering his barb, she turned her face to the tome she held, flipping to the page they needed. She had to squint to read the words, but she could distinguish each one. "So, we'll need...half a pint of buttermilk, two pints of plain milk, a wooden spoon, and muslin. I don't think we'll find the last."

"We'll make do, just like you said earlier," Brigitta said. "Let's just find the milk first." That was simple enough: the icebox stood against the wall of the kitchen opposite the window, and as Brigitta pulled the door open, she could easily see the glass bottles nestled amongst the ice. "I think," she whispered, pulling two out, "yes, they have some sort of label."

"Well, they would have to," Louisa said, glancing to her sister. "Not even the cook could have this place memorized well enough just remember which was which."

Rolling her eyes again, Brigitta walked to the window, holding her left hand above her head. "This one...is plain milk," she said, lowering her arm. "And this one"—she now raised her right arm—"is plain as well."

"Here." Dropping the book on the island, Louisa reached into the icebox and took two more bottles before joining her sister in the pool of moonlight. "Plain milk," she said of the one in her right hand, "and"—she lifted her left hand above her head triumphantly, closing her eyes in satisfaction—"buttermilk!"

"Now just find something to measure them with," Friedrich said from his position leaning against the wall of the entrance to the kitchen, "and a pot to boil them in, and you're all set to go." That afternoon, as the plan had taken shape, the three had immediately agreed that Louisa and Brigitta would do the actual concoction of the curds, while Friedrich would watch for anyone wandering down near the kitchen. Or, as he had seen it, Louisa and Brigitta had banished him to the realm of keeping guard while they had some fun making a bit of a mess.

"Oh, we won't need anything to measure it with," Louisa said. "We'll just need to be careful what we put in. A half pint to two pints, that's a one to four ratio, or didn't they teach you that in geometry last year?"

"Come on, then," Brigitta said hastily, setting one of her containers of milk on the island beside their recipe, "let's find a pot." They set the unneeded bottles of milk in the icebox once more, not willing to ruin anymore than necessary, then searched about for a pot. Friedrich laughed to himself for a time as they rifled through cabinets and never looked up to the pot rack just a meter or so above their heads. When Louisa finally caught him with a glare as his chuckles came loose form his throat, he simply pointed to one on the end, and pretended he did not see their embarrassed frowns or hear their sighs.

The recipe went uneventfully when seen in the light of their journey to the kitchen; the only highlight was the scar Brigitta's wrist had nearly acquired as she let her hand drift too near the electric burner. The girls were enjoying themselves almost beyond measure, arguing quietly about when the time to strain the mixture would come. They had found the need for the wooden spoon on the lower part of the page, and were now only bickering about whether or not the curds were truly sticking to the wood.

"It's getting late," Brigitta said, brushing a loose strand of her dark hair over her shoulder. "This will have to be good enough. Here." She set a second pot, loosely covered by a cheese cloth, on the stove beside the first. "Pour it through."

Scowling, but protesting only enough to say, "I think you mean it's getting _early_," Louisa wrapped the handles of the copper pot in two towels, hefted it above the waiting container, and began to tip it in. Brigitta, whose hands were holding the cloth across the opening, almost jumped at the heat that washed over her, but quickly gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, whispering to herself that it would soon be finished.

"There," Louisa said, as the last of the mixture dripped onto the cloth. Placing the pot on the stove once again, scarcely remembering to switch off the burner, she pinched corners of the cloth nearer the center than her sister. "You can let go, Brigitta." She nearly laughed as her sister began to shake her hands, fanning them through the cool air. Gathering the cloth into her fist, Louisa clutched them in one hand and twisted it into something like a bag, letting the final bits of moisture drip into the waiting pot. "We've got to hurry—we've still got to shape them."

"I'm starting to wonder whether this was truly a good idea," Friedrich said from the hall. "This has taken more than an hour."

"Closer to two if you count the time in the library and just getting from one place to another," Brigitta said as she followed Louisa to the island. "And we still have to form them to look like soap."

"Then let's get started," Louisa said, digging into the pocket of her nightgown with her free hand. "And here's our pattern." In her palm lay a thin bar of creamy soap that gleamed in the moonlight.

"Is that the Baroness's?" Friedrich asked, abandoning his stance at the door. As things were now, it didn't really matter if anyone came near them. They had nowhere to hide and too much of a mess to deal with.

"That would be correct. Wasn't it wonderful how Father trusted Liesl to keep us all out of trouble while he and the Baroness sat around talking all afternoon? And with her room empty and door unlocked? But Friedrich, would you like to mold our soap, or would you like to empty, wash, and dry the pots?" she asked her brother, offering her sweetest grin.

"I'll take care of the pots," he said, shaking his head. "After all, you two did most of the work. It's just, can we please hurry?" Picking up one of the pots from the stove, he walked over to the sink and poured the mixture of milk slowly down the drain. Turning on the tap, he let it fill with water as he crossed the kitchen to retrieve the other.

Setting the pilfered soap aside, Louisa opened the cheese cloth to examine the pile of curds; it seemed rather like a white mass on the fabric. Grimacing at the thought, she edged her hand forward and at last scooped up a handful of the curds, surprised at the heat it still held. "Louisa," Brigitta said quietly as she took her own lump of curds, glancing at the actual bar of soap for a moment, "what do you think Father will do when he finds out what we've done?"

"He won't be happy," Friedrich said, walking across the kitchen again to take one of the towels that Louisa had used to hold the first pot.

"I knew _that_," she hissed, squeezing the curds in her hand harder than she meant.

"Do you really care, Brigitta?" Louisa asked, bending down to peer at the soap carefully. "I mean, you were crying this afternoon when she left. Which do you want more: to have Fräulein Maria back, or to avoid whatever punishment Father will have for us?"

"Of course I want Fräulein Maria back!" Brigitta snapped. "It's just—I'm wondering what Father will do. And whatever it is, it will come down on all the others, even Marta and Gretl."

"But they knew that, 'Gitta," Louisa said, stifling a yawn. "They knew that this afternoon when we first decided to go through with this. Besides, what can he do? Make us stay inside? It can't be any worse than marching outside. Or will he send us to bed without supper? We've done that before, and anyway, now we know it's not too hard to get down here."

"I suppose you're right," she said, turning her attention to molding her curds. "But I guess we had better not tell Kurt, or he'll be down here every night!" The breaking of the tension was welcome as they all laughed, more so because it was true.

"Louisa," Friedrich said after a few minutes silence, hoisting the first of the now dried pots on to the pot rack, "are we just going to do this? Is this all?"

"What else could you _want_ to do?" she asked, dropping her bar of curds beside the soap, smiling as she saw the resemblance. "I just want to see her face after she's tried to wash up with these!"

"I mean," he continued, returning to the sink to dry the second pot, "what about the notion of setting some tricks on Father? If we truly want him to bring Fräulein Maria back of his own accord, then I think, in the end, we'll have to do something to him."

"Didn't we discuss that earlier today?" Brigitta said, reaching for a second handful of curds to shape. "I thought we were going to set out Mother's pictures on his desk, to remind him—"

"That's not enough," he said, letting the soaked towel fall to the tiled counter top. "I think we just need to find something harsher, something that would make him realize we need to have a governess."

"All that means is he'll get us another one," Louisa said, glancing out the window. She almost thought she saw the first glimmers of the dawn.

"Wasn't that the plan?" Friedrich asked as he hooked the second pot above them. "There's no way he'll bring back Fräulein Maria without going through at least another governess." Joining his sisters at the island, he took in their creations. "Those really do look like soap."

"Thank you," they said together, collapsing into giggles for a moment. "Well," Louisa began, "if you think he's in need of being brought to his senses, I can think of a couple things. That's enough, Brigitta." From the pile of curds, they had formed four bars of imitation soap, similar enough to the original, they could hardly tell the difference. "We could put beetles in his desk drawers—it won't frighten him but it will certainly irritate him."

"I don't think it is possible to frighten Father," Brigitta said, tightly wrapping up the cheese cloth and the remains of the curds. Searching for the garbage, she dropped it in the container.

"I wanted to taste those," Friedrich said with a frown. Brigitta smiled unapologetically.

"All the more reason to focus ourselves in that direction," Louisa said, ignoring her brother's comment as she slipped the soap back into the pocket of her nightgown. "Here, I'll take two and you take two." Both girls took a bar of the curd soap in either hand as Friedrich closed the shutters and drew the drapes, as if they had never been there. He almost forgot the book on the table. "But what else?" Louisa asked herself as they left the kitchen, their hearts beating easier than before.

"We could glue his books shut!" Friedrich said excitedly as they entered the foyer.

"What?" Brigitta gasped, almost dropping her curds. "You can't do that!"

"It would certainly frustrate him," Louisa added, amused at the horror that covered Brigitta's countenance. Now she was certain of her suspicion, for the pale gray light of the earliest bit of dawn was shining through the windows in the hall, illuminating Brigitta's terror.

"But—but you _can't_!" the younger girl insisted. "I won't let you!"

"Well," Louisa said, thinking as they climbed the steps to the landing between the staircases leading to the servant and family's quarters, "we could just muss their organization—ruin his system. Could you tolerate _that_, 'Gitta?"

The pain on the younger girl's face was evident, but her eyes were working, weighing some consideration. "I suppose," she said at last as they began to climb the steps towards their bedrooms.

"You suppose _what_?" a curious voice asked from behind them, and each of the children felt the levity of the previous second drain away. "Well?" Frau Schmidt asked, descending the remaining steps from the servants' quarters to stand sternly on that same landing the children had just crossed, tapping her foot impatiently.

They had clearly been up to no good, and the Captain would have their hides for being out and about nearer five than four in the morning. She rose at that time each day, and never had she seen another person, let alone one of the children. And their faces as they turned, Brigitta and Louisa tucking their hands into their pockets while Friedrich clutched his hands behind his back, each one betrayed certain mischief. The housekeeper's gray hair gleamed in the early morning gloom, and while her mind fumbled for a reasonable lie, Louisa wondered how she could have missed seeing it.

Yet even in their fear, their nervousness at being caught, Frau Schmidt almost fancied to see—pleasure, hope. But she remembered—as they had gone to dinner the evening before, their eyes landing upon their governess's empty chair, she remembered the utter sadness that had covered each one, even Liesl and Louisa, even the boys. Though she had been in the house so short a time, Maria had made the children happy, let them find the fun in life, the fun that children should have.

"No, never mind," Frau Schmidt said to herself quite loudly, each child jumping a bit. "Go on up to bed. I think you'll still be able to get a couple hours of rest.

"But—but, don't you want to—to," Brigitta began, not believing that they seemed to be escaping unscathed, but the housekeeper waved her hand dismissively towards their bedrooms.

"If you tell me nothing, I shall have nothing to tell your father. I will not lie to him, but if you do not have an answer to give..." She let the sentence trail into silence, holding her smile at the children's widening eyes. "Go on!"

Turning around quickly on the stairs, the children ran the rest of the steps, slowing only to close their doors with as little noise as possible, and Frau Schmidt shook her head. She had been looking after the Von Trapp home since before Liesl was born, and she knew those children well. Whatever it was they planned to do, she pitied the recipient.


	15. The Snares Within

**Chapter 15: The Snares Within**

The Captain woke to a headache throbbing between his eyes and a guilty conscience. Rubbing his temples with his fingers before they traveled to the uppermost bit of his nose, he stifled a groan as he set his feet on the carpet, feeling the ache in his skull travel along each of his limbs, cramping in his feet. His sleep had been restless, his mind refusing to allow him to relax and offering him only troubled dreams.

He had read for a time the night before, sifting aimlessly through a memoir of the Great War—quite bored by it, in fact, but he had been unable to sleep. In his heart, he had felt something was wrong—that there was something he should do. Around eleven, he had given up on sleep, and had donned his robe and shoes to walk about the villa. At least, he would get some air, for his room had become insufferably stuffy over the last hour.

Up and down the hallway before his rooms he had paced, the cool air of the night sweet on his warm face, but doing nothing for his mind and the tightness in his heart. The quiet he so often strove for, even demanded from his children—tonight, it only deepened his inexplicable sorrow, but not a sorrow for himself: it was for his children.

He hadn't even realized where he walked, not until he found the sound of Kurt's gentle snoring echoing into the hallway. So near to them, he could not hold himself back, and glanced into each bedroom, finding every child asleep and dreaming, as he could not. Setting his hand on the handle of the youngest girls' room, he thought for just a moment he saw a light peeking from beneath the door of his older daughters' room, but as he glanced back from Marta and Gretl, he shook his head. Only darkness passed underneath the door.

In their sleep, every one of his children had seemed perfect, the gifts from God they had once been. Did they not understand that he loved them, that all he wanted to do was ease their passage into the world they were condemned to inherit? Would the games children enjoyed halt the remilitarization of Germany, drag Hitler from the Chancellor's office? No, they would gain nothing from their child's play! And Liesl, Friedrich—both already so near adulthood, what reason had they for playing silly games?

Resting his forehead against the frame of the first door, he had sighed, the deep breath comforting. _If you are so certain, then why is there this doubt in your mind?_ he asked himself. _Why do you question the choice you made today?_

There was no answer to come, he had known in that moment—no certain truth to hold to. He had returned to his room with his mind heavier than before, shrugged off his robe, and laid back on his bed, not bothering to crawl beneath the sheets and or even the down comforter; he could not find it within his heart to care as the weight of his frame crushed the delicate feathers. This time, sleep took him rapidly, pulling him into those same dreams for which he had envied his children.

_"Georg," the dream called to him, her voice as cool as the air he had sought before. But he would not,_ could not _seek her out. "Georg. Why are you hiding from me, dearest? Why do you hide from our children?"_

_"What?" he asked, stumbling backwards into the darkness swirling about him. And then, her hands grasped his shoulders, her fingers as strong as he remembered in her life, holding him tighter in her death._

_"Why do you push them from you? The pain is written upon each of them, my love—they want you back, more than anything. Why do you keep them from you?"_

_"Agathe," he whispered, her name suddenly foreign to his lips. "Agathe..."_

_"It is cruelty, Georg." The words echoed in his soul rather than his ears, spoken not by a voice but by a kindred spirit. "What love you claim to have for them, it is but a memory of that love for them we shared. How can you hold them in your heart if you do not know them?"_

_"They are dearer to me than anything in the world..." he began, but her unseen hand laid a finger upon his lips._

_"No, Georg," she whispered, her breath on his face. "You cannot give them the love they seek, not now, not as you are. They starve for that love, yearn for it more than food, and drink, and even God. But you have sent her away, dearest, the one person who has taken it upon herself to love them for who and what they are: the _children_ of Captain Georg von Trapp."_

_"She would not discipline them," he whispered, stepping away from this personage he could not see. It was coming again, the raging storm of anger—grief—hatred that clawed at him, and so close to her, it would consume him. The words, though, were comforting, a vestige of order and certainty to cling to. "They must have that discipline."_

_"But they're children, Georg!" she said, her voice rising in sadness, echoing a phrase he remembered, but who had said it—he could not find that memory. "_Our_ children!"_

_"Then why should I offer them the pain that closeness with another will bring?" he shouted, the anger overcoming his want for order, tears he had not shed for years running along his cheeks, wetting the fingers he could not see that stroked his face. "Why should I demand they suffer as I do?"_

_"Is all our love turned to suffering?" she asked, drawing away from him. He could feel the despair beating in her own heart. "Is that all you now remember of me, the pain my death caused? Then leave me, my love, until your heart has found its memories once more. Love me and our children again—when you know how!"_

_"Agathe!" he called, reaching out his hand, desperate to hold her as she departed. At last she turned and he glimpsed her fading form, the long dark hair trailing over her shoulders and the shining of her eyes that blurred through his tears. "Please don't leave me! Don't go!"_

And then—the light of morning had flooded his eyes into his eyes that snapped open, and the pounding on his skull had arrived.

Struggling to stand, trying to ignore the cramping in his feet, he searched for his robe, a pile of fabric where he had let it fall the previous night. Settling it on his shoulders and knotting the sash about his waist, he could not keep his mind from drifting to his dream. That ache—it burned deep within, fiery as it had not been for years. Was that the pain that had caused his children's weeping the night before at dinner? That gnawing emptiness now filling his soul?

Wincing as he walked into the bathroom connected to his bedroom, he buried the question, preferring the pain of his memories to the certainty of his children's anguish. Beginning to run the water for his shower, he sighed as he lost himself in his thoughts.

Somehow, he found his lips forming words he had not thought of in years before he even knew his tongue moved, before he could punch the words down in his mind. It was a short, American poem, the English words escaping his mouth, nearly inaudible. " 'Across the fields of yesterday, he sometimes comes to me, a little lad just back from play—the lad I used to be... ' " The words trailed into silence, but the poem continued in his head, defiantly unwilling to fall silent. _'And yet he smiles so wistfully once he has crept within, I wonder if he hopes to see the man I might have been.'_

_No! _his mind shouted, his hands clutching at his forehead to hold the throbbing pain that rose once more, frenzied in its hold. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the tension, the ache threatening to burst through his skin. _No...Not now, after so long._ Shedding his robe and nightclothes, he stepped into the warm spray and scorching breath of the steam.

The water already pooled around his feet, bathing his toes and the arch of each foot to soothe away the memory of the cramp that lingered. That pain, though—he hardly sense it now. He could not feel the heat of the water, nor the pounding in his head, nor the ache of his heart. As the water rushed over his body, he _felt_ nothing, not even his pain.


	16. No Going Back

**Chapter 16: No Going Back**

"What are you doing?" the Captain asked harshly as his children stood up from the table, taking care to pile their dishes neatly before them. Each of his children had eaten their breakfast hastily, wolfing down scrambled eggs and waffles sprinkled with powdered sugar as though eating poorly prepared _Tafelspitz _while awaiting dessert, and now the older children scrambled to snatch the crumb-covered dishes from one another.

"What Fräulein Maria taught us to do," Liesl said, her voice steady and confident as she took Gretl's plate and stacked it atop her own. "It's only kind as it helps those who will clean up after us. Is there something _wrong_ with what Fräulein Maria taught us, Father?" She did not wait for him to answer as she continued with her stacking, reaching for Marta's plate while the rest of the children gathered even those before the Baroness, Max, and the Captain.

"Oh, no, nothing," he mumbled, pushing back his chair to stand.

"You know, Georg," Max said, rising to his feet as well, "it really is a shame to waste your words on clumsy lies. You're quite dreadful at it."

"Max," the Captain said, twisting his torso to fully offer the man a glare. The memory of his dream had tried his patience beyond measure, and his head still felt the after effects of the headache.

"Yes, I know when I'm not wanted," the man said, running his fingers over his mustache. "I shall join you all again for lunch, and before then, I shall work on making myself scarce and starving for that delicious occasion. Good day." Bowing his head, he quit the room, whistling as he went.

"Well now, Georg," Elsa said, balancing her elbow on the armrest of her chair as the children collected the remainder of her breakfast items, "what shall we be doing today? Are we to be spending it with your charming children?" Those of the children who were not facing her tried to make their gagged expressions quietly, and Liesl, still straightening dishes at the table, bit her tongue trying not to giggle. Perhaps she would not find them so _charming_ after today.

"No, darling," the Captain said, pretending to laugh as he walked to her chair to offer her his hand in assistance of her standing. Elsa did not deserve to have her day ruined because of his melancholy. "I thought we'd just spend the day out on the terrace and the veranda, taking in the sunshine before it becomes too warm."

"That sounds wonderful," Elsa said, placing her hand on his arm lightly, drawing herself from the chair on her own strength. Liesl and Friedrich, the two children Elsa could see clearly, smiled pleasantly at her as the final dishes were stacked. _Perhaps,_ she thought, _children aren't quite so bad after all._

The smiles remained tightly plastered to the eldest children's faces as the Baroness and their father quit the room, and faded the moment they crossed the threshold. "My cheeks hurt," Friedrich moaned, pinching one.

"At least she didn't notice anything," Liesl said grumpily. She was tired as Friedrich, Louisa, and Brigitta, and rather anxious to finish the last part of their work.

"If you want to talk about noticing things, I still can't believe we aren't in any trouble," Louisa said to Brigitta, letting her attention fall from their father and the Baroness to glance at the girl sideways. The way her father clutched her arm ruffled her senses. "Frau Schmidt—she acted as though she didn't see us early this morning, the way she got us up."

"I'm not complaining," Brigitta said, crossing the room to speak with Liesl. "Did you finish it?" she asked.

"What?" Liesl said, knitting her eyebrows.

"Pride and Prejudice. You said you would finish it this morning."

"Oh," Liesl said, yawning as she began to walk towards the foyer, "yes. It was a lovely ending. I liked Lady Catherine's complete horror at Mr. Darcy's marriage. It was pleasant book, and it was so kind of the writer to allow everyone to be happy in the end, Jane and Mr. Bingley along with Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy."

"You two can finish discussing whatever it is you read later, Liesl," Louisa said, joining them just outside the dining room, "but I think that we should take this opportunity Father has so kindly given to us?"

"Yes," Friedrich added, leaving the dining room with the remaining children in tow. "It seems like it would be a waste to have spent all that time last night only to run _out_ of it now."

"I suppose you're right," Liesl said, nodding her head, her tresses tumbling around her neck.

"What are we going to do?" asked Gretl, running to take Liesl's hand. The older girl swallowed harshly, for that was an action none of them had seen from Gretl—until Fräulein Maria had come.

"Well," Liesl said, bending down to scoop her sister and set her on her hip to speak with her more easily, "we are going to work on convincing Father to bring Fräulein Maria back. Don't you remember what we discussed yesterday?"

"Do you mean we get to play tricks on the Baroness now?" Marta asked suddenly, drawing Liesl's attention to her other side.

"Not so loud!" Louisa hissed before Liesl could speak, a hurt look sliding over Marta's face. Louisa snapped at neither Marta nor Gretl without a genuine reason, and never before had she done so simply for the sake of noise. "I'm sorry," the older girl said, strangely contrite, "but I don't want them to know!" Louisa glanced over her shoulder to the terrace, the door leading there ajar. "I don't want to think about what could happen if we don't do this right."

"I think Uncle Max went outside," Kurt said, his eagerness rising as he missed the darker tone in Louisa's voice. "So let's hurry up if we don't want to get caught!"

Louisa volunteered to take care of the Baroness's room, as she had familiarized herself with it the day before on her quest to pilfer a pattern for their trick. The others, it was agreed, would concentrate on their father's study and library, and she would join them when she was finished, bringing a jar of beetles with her.

In truth, even if Louisa had not been the logical choice for this job, she would have fought for it anyway. This part of what they meant to do belonged to her and no other. Even if Fräulein Maria had never come, Louisa knew that she would have arrived at the crossroads. Climbing the stairs to her bedroom to retrieve her tools of the trade while her brothers and sisters began to mill about in their father's study, her mind drifted back to words she had heard earlier that summer, before _she_ had come—those words that had struck unusual fear in her.

_"Do you really think so?"_ one of the maids had asked Frau Schmidt, neither noticing Louisa's scanning the shelves of the library for a book of French verbs and her rigidness as her ears perked up.

_"Oh, I'm afraid it's almost certain,"_ the housekeeper had answered quietly, drawing the maid nearer her to speak confidentially. _"Can there be any other reason why he visits her in Vienna so often?"_

_"But_ marry _her!"_ Frau Schmidt's hint for a low voice had been lost on her._ "It will change everything around here!"_

There could only be one her, Louisa knew—Baroness Schräder. The thought of her father marrying her had nearly made her sick at the beginning of the summer, and now that she had met the woman, she wouldn't be able to stand it if anything were to come of that rumor.

Slipping into her bedroom, she breathed deeply. This was it, her final chance to turn back, to avoid inciting the rage of their father and the hatred of the Baroness. Crossing the room to her bed, she dropped onto her knees and reached beneath her bed frame, pulling out a small wooden box, her name painted in childish letters along one side. The 'S' was formed backwards, a habit she had carried until she was five.

Running her fingers along the sharp edges and corners, Louisa discovered she didn't care what her father would do, didn't care if the Baroness came to despise even little Gretl with all her being because of what she was about to do. If she quit now, after coming this far, she knew she would regret it forever.

Lifting the lid, she smiled as the four wafers of curd soap and the Baroness's own bar came into her sight. She could only tell the difference because their creations were stacked atop one another, and the Baroness's soap sat alone to one side. Letting the top slide through her fingers to close the box, she got to her feet, steeling herself quietly for her next task.

The pocket on the skirt of her uniform was not large enough to permit her to slip the box inside it, but she didn't worry. As she poked her head out of her room, she saw no one in the hall, so she pulled the door closed behind her and walked quickly and quietly to the Baroness's room, at the far end of the hall.

The door swung in with no sound, and though the hall, indeed the entire upstairs of the house, was empty, Louisa was glad to be treading on carpet rather than a hard floor. The room was pleasantly furnished in shades of rose red and pink, and filled with light, simple wooden pieces. The Baroness's many bags were spread across one side, waiting for one of the maids to empty their contents into the bureau. Across from the door to the hall, the door to the bathroom stood half opened.

Running to that door, wanting to be finished and out of the room—being inside it, she felt sad for some reason—she switched on the lamp beside the door. The bathroom was decorated the same as the room, tiles and curtains all in shades of red, the bathtub and pedestal both pure white porcelain. A blue ceramic dish that sat by the edge of that sink, holding a wafer of white soap. Grinning and biting her tongue to hold in a snort of laughter as she pictured the Baroness washing up for dinner, Louisa opened her box a second time.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Brigitta asked quietly as Louisa stepped into their father's study, clutching a jar of beetles scrambling frantically over one another. The closer Louisa came, the farther back Brigitta leaned against the wall, eyeing the insects with disgust. 

"Excellently," her sister said, setting the jar on the desk. "I see you've been busy." Scattered across the the dark mahogany wood lay every image of their mother they had been able to find: pictures of their parents together, some even from their wedding, a small water color portrait, photographs of their mother holding different children at different ages. Every child could find him or herself in at least one.

"Liesl remembered where Father had hidden the photograph albums," Friedrich said, peeling another picture from a page near the back of their parents' wedding album. Seated comfortably on the floor, Liesl glanced up at the sound of her name. Marta and Gretl sat on either side of her, flipping through a different collection of photographs. Marta's memories of their mother were blurred by the passing of the years, and Gretl could never recall seeing her mother.

"You knew he wouldn't just throw them away," Liesl said, returning her attention to Marta and Gretl. "He still loves Mother too much."

"It would be nice if he would realize that other people exist in the world other than Mother," Louisa said, curling her fingers around a handle on one of the drawers. Tugging it open to see a pile of papers and two thin books, she pushed these toward the back. "I think he believes she left us on purpose."

"You can't really think that," Liesl said, turning a page in the album as she looked to Louisa.

"Oh yes, I can," the girl said defiantly, twisting the lid on her jar of beetles. Brigitta fled from the wall, now too frightened even to protect her father's books, brave enough to look at her sister and the now open jar only from the other side of the desk. "And I do, because I think it's _true!_" Tipping her jar in the air, she poured the frantic insects into the drawer, slamming it shut before they began to scramble up the sides to escape. Hearing the crash of the wood, Brigitta breathed easier.

"That's three of the four taken care of," she said, sealing the now empty jar from habit. "I say we work on the last before Father and the Baroness come back."

"What are we doing, Liesl?" asked Gretl as her sister pushed herself up to stand. Reaching down, Liesl pulled her youngest sisters up with either hand.

"Honestly, I think we're going to go make Brigitta sick up," Liesl said quietly as Gretl giggled. Tugging on their arms for the girls to follow her, Liesl began to lead the children across the foyer, into the library. "But, let's hurry."

"You will _not_ make me sick!" Brigitta said, twisting her fingers into fists angrily as she entered the library. "You didn't hear what they wanted to do at first!"

"And what was that?" Liesl asked, turning to her sister who was already standing by the rows of shelves, fidgeting unhappily. Setting Marta and Gretl on the ground to play a clapping game, she walked to lean on the seat by the window that looked out over the veranda. The Captain and the Baroness were strolling along the stone railing, slowing to gaze over the lake, or for the Baroness to lean in and whisper something in his ear. Drawing her eyes away, feeling the tears form, she glanced to her siblings, waiting for the answer.

"Oh, Friedrich wanted to glue the pages together," Louisa said at last as she set her empty jar on the same desk they had made use of the night before. Rounding Brigitta she pulled a book from the shelf with either hand. "That idea lasted for as long as it took Brigitta to open her mouth."

"And it was probably a good thing," Kurt said, joining Louisa to pile five books in his arms. "I can't think of what he would do to us after _that_."

"We'll make him mad enough at us just doing this," Friedrich said, trotting to the bookshelf to offer his arms to Louisa, now removing books furiously. "You know how he gets with his systems." Entirely laden with the volumes, he crossed the floor to set them in front of Brigitta. Her face was gray as she surveyed the pile, she dropped to her knees with a sigh and began to thrust them to one side or the other without a thought to their titles.

"Does that really mean anything?" Kurt asked, beginning to muss his own set of books before him. "It hardly stopped you three last night."

"But that was the Baroness," Friedrich said, setting his forearms before Louisa for the four books she had already prepared. "This is his library—you know how he can be about everything being in its place!"

"And that's exactly why we should do it," Louisa said, dropping two more books on his stack, reaching for another pair.

"Do what?" the amused voice of Uncle Max asked as he entered the room. He had not had a moment to speak with these children in nearly a year, the time of his previous visit; he always enjoyed his talks with his friend's children. They were delightful in nearly every way, intelligent, and engaging. But this morning, each child, even the youngest who were sitting to one side amusing themselves, wore identical expressions of guilt, rather as he did if ever he was caught unawares. His eyes traced across Brigitta to Louisa, Friedrich, and Kurt standing at the bookcases, filling their arms haphazardly with books. "My, but this is lovely trick!"

"Oh—um, Uncle Max," Liesl said, standing quicker than she meant, trying to devise a lie that would not sound as though it came from Friedrich. But every face, the books clutched in various hands and the stack before Brigitta—there _was_ no reason. "We were—we were just—"

"Have you some wonderful joke to irritate your father?" he said, certain it could be nothing else. Liesl's face flushed while Friedrich's went pale; on the floor, hands frozen in the air, Marta and Gretl merely fought tears. Some torment for their father was all it could be. Knowing them as he did, though, and remembering the tale he had heard the evening before when he returned—Georg's anger at their behavior, the firing of their governess—he could hardly blame them for whatever had driven them to this. Georg was his dear friend, but the man was hardly a father to his children. If it took this much effort on the part of his children to draw attention to themselves, then perhaps he could give them even the slightest aid.

"You must teach me eventually," he said after a moment's thought. His decision had only taken him a moment, and in that short time, no doubt rose. "Never let anyone say Max Detweiler has been out-maneuvered by children!"

"But, Uncle Max," Brigitta began, almost tripping on the pile of books in her eagerness to stand, "aren't you—"

"Shh!" he said, drawing one of his fingers to his lips. Hope kindled in the seven faces before him. "I wish you luck in whatever—_charming_ pursuit you have chosen, and I pray that we shall both have a marvelous laugh after it is finished." Offering them a smile for the pinnacle of their confusion, he turned on his heel as he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and strode into the foyer once more.

Even Liesl, who had known Uncle Max longer than any other, felt her eyes widen at his disregard for their conduct. Perhaps, though, it was more—even tacit approval. Between Friedrich, Louisa, and Brigitta flew shock and disbelief. "We've been far too lucky," Brigitta said, breaking the silence as she buried herself in her disorganization once again. "I think we're going to run out soon."

Her trembling fingers tightening on the binding of a leather cover, Louisa found her breath. "Then we'll take whatever we get when that happens. But until then"—her head snapped away from the shelf—"come back here, Friedrich!"


	17. Discipline

**Chapter 17: Discipline**

Every one of the children sat on pins and needles the remainder of the morning, turning their heads at the sound of footsteps on the floor of the foyer. As their father and the Baroness returned from the veranda to take lunch with them, they bit their lips, some in amusement, others in anticipation, and still one or two more in fear.

The noon meal was taken in the same silence as breakfast, and none of the children had the courage to gaze anywhere other than at their plates, feeling the urge to laugh grow within them. Max could only ponder what he waited for, and hope beyond reason for what might result.

With lunch finished, the Captain sent them on their walk, glaring as they dawdled in their pace, while from in the far depths of his mind, that same quiet voice of doubt that had surfaced the day before whispered something was amiss in their subdued gazes, their uneasy quiet. He knew the time would come when they would be themselves once more, when they would forget her. He had known that as he stood across from her on the terrace, awaiting the rising of the ice in his chest, yearning for its protectiveness. But, would they? The sadness that had been in each of them at breakfast and lunch, would it ever truly fade? Perhaps, had he been wrong? He shook himself mentally, angry at his resolve that had been so easily toppled.

The ache in his head had subsided at last through the passage of time; neither Elsa's pleasant company nor the warm air of summer had been able to dispel it. As he sat working through that pain in the morning, he had felt that once it subsided, everything would be as it was—the previous day could be taken up, the memory of the night glossed over.

Yet now...He did not welcome even Elsa's company, and after lunch, he had tried to apologize for his need to be alone. "Of course, Georg," she had said, the pain that flickered in his eyes naked for the reading by any person.

"I am—sorry, darling," he said, the words choking around the falsehood. He turned his face down, unwilling to gaze at her face while he spoke a lie to her. Elsa concealed her amusement; she knew why he dissembled, but she would not press him. The memory of his wife's death had sprung up so suddenly on his return to his home, she wondered if it remained an open, festering wound in this place.

"There is no need for apology," she said, resting her hand on his arm briefly. "I will see you at dinner." Not saying anymore, she had left him, taking to the stairs to settle in her room for a short doze. Now by himself, the Captain found himself utterly lost, no one to distract him, nothing to occupy him but his own thoughts. He had a handful of letters to compose, that was all. A paltry distraction, but the pain burned weaker through the haze of any activity.

Entering his study, he was first struck by the movement of several sheets of paper and a handful of pens across his desktop. Franz knew he preferred his desk to remain undisturbed, Frau Schmidt did not come into his study unless it was to call for him, and the children...He drew a shuddering breath—he knew not if his children ventured into this room. He no longer knew them at all.

"I understand them as well as any father might understand his children," he growled, walking to the dark piece. "If I do not know them as well as I once did, that is—" Now able to see his desktop clearly, all words failed him and his lungs almost ceased their work.

From every inch of the wooden surface, the bright eyes of his wife stared out at him. Her face smiled, her mouth opened in laughter, her arms clutched their children—and everywhere, he saw the mirth that had purely been _her_. Even in the photograph from their wedding, in the very center of the collection, she smiled more broadly than other women he had known, with more joy and purity than any other—

But one.

He felt the pain in his hand before knew he had swung his fist into the side of the wood. "Why?" he whispered, collapsing into his chair. "Why is she haunting me?" He had spoken the words when he knew that he did not know which woman he meant.

_Agathe,_ he thought, wondering if his words could ever reach her. _Agathe._ Oh, he had not meant to, but surely she would have understood—it was the only way! He hated the distance from his children, but if he allowed them in, drew them in to his heart and mind, there would be all the pain, the same ache he had felt this morning, the same anguish that rose as his eyes raked across his wife's image again and again.

Did they enjoy causing him pain, he wondered as his hands swept across the desk, throwing the photographs to the carpet. By their very presence, even, their very lives...Did they know the ache of memory that their mother's face drew up within his heart?

"Of course they cannot," he growled as the last photograph fluttered to the floor. Even knowing those images—she—lay so close, the pain eased as he could forget her face and eyes, pushing them away. "She was their mother, but I—I married her! They loved her because of the chance that she bore them, but I loved her because I _chose_ to do so! And now they deign to force me to endure it all once more!"

Settling farther into his chair, his eyes glanced over the surface of his desk once more, resting on that single image his fingers had not laid to waste—the picture of their wedding. But it was that one that brought the most pain, his joyful face as he stood arm in arm with his new wife, neither knowing the torment less than fifteen years before them. In that moment, his future as a haunted man was sealed, and he could not go back to his life the way it had been before. His last moment—to hold himself from all the pain that was to come.

He hated that image—he hated himself for what he had done as much as he loved Agathe. He would never be rid of his anger and antipathy for those words they had exchanged that day. But he knew that buried within that hatred, somewhere was the love he had pledged to her. His fingers trembled as he reached for the photograph, and he finally felt the burning of the tiny cuts that ran the length of his hand. Twisting his arm to see them properly, his puzzlement grew.

They stung like only the thin cuts of paper can, but he had not felt them—his anger had been too great. "Is that all I am?" he whispered, now balancing that single picture between the fingers of his right hand. "Am I now merely my anger?" In the image before him, his wife glowed, almost ethereal in her beauty—and no sign of rage or anger about her. Neither was there in the man he had been seventeen, nearly eighteen years prior.

" 'The man I might have been,' " he whispered, remembering the same poem as earlier in the morning. Could he become that man again, that man who stared out at him filled with the joy of his just completed wedding. Did he exist any longer? "Am I even a man anymore?" Those eyes gazing at him—they held no answer.

There were grating voices in the foyer, reviving the ache in his skull. His children—chattering like regular hooligans, the younger girls' voices rising in screeching laughs. Did they expect he would be grateful, even thankful, that they had laden his desk with these painful memories. _If they did,_ he thought as he pushed himself to his feet, the sorrow filling him once again as he passed the pile of photographs on the carpet, _I shall have to set them right._

From the doorway of his study, he could see every one of them in the foyer, Marta and Gretl each clutching one of Liesl's hands tightly. Friedrich and Kurt were off to one side, unwilling to associate with their sisters, while Brigitta and Louisa walked near one another, their heads bent toward one another, discussing something. He felt his eyes narrow; Louisa and Brigitta were not close, as sisters went. Louisa was far too closed from any other person, and Brigitta's thoughts were always on a cloud. So what might bring them together? _Some other little _gift, he wondered, the word a snarl in his mind, _like the one they scattered across my desk and that which they left— _He had to stop his thoughts, before they turned to her once more.

"Children," he called harshly from the doorway. Brigitta and Louisa glanced up from their conversation, their faces held too innocently, Kurt and Friedrich turned towards him, and the three other girls gave him a questioning look. "Please come in here." Their feet were not hurried as they walked towards him, exchanging knowing gazes as they passed him.

"Now," he said, drawing the door closed as Kurt filed in, "I want a straight answer, from whichever one of you has enough integrity to speak truthfully. I would like to know why, when I came in here this afternoon, was my desk covered in photographs." His shoulders began to turn as he mentioned the images, and he nearly had them in his sight and mind once again, but he held himself with a shudder. "Well, who among you will answer?"

"Do we need to apologize for wanting to see our mother's face, Father?" Liesl asked, pulling each of the little girls closer to her. He gave her a silencing look as he scowled.

"No," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, beginning to pace before the line of children, "if it is only for yourselves that you wish to look at her photographs. What I mean to ask is why they were strewn across my desk. All of you, even you, Gretl, know that you are not to come into this room, and yet you have been in here, making trouble. I wish to know why!" His voice had risen before he knew it, and the youngest of his children, trembled at his shouted words. Did they truly fear him so?

"Must we have a reason?" Liesl asked, unwilling to concede defeat to her father as she had so many times before. "Is it not enough that we miss her?"

He wanted to snap at her, to shout that with all the love they had for their mother, they could not begin to imagine the grief that had taken him when Agathe had breathed her last, succumbing to the fever, to—

He had to remind himself to breathe. This would do him no good, sinking further into the despair. "No," he managed to growl, stepping away from them all. "No, you do not need a reason, but that was not the question I asked you." Every face was closed, still—unwilling to answer him. "Very well, then," he said, as even Liesl offered him a gaze that belied her intended silence. "Off with you all—I don't want anymore trouble out of you today."

"Of course not, Father," Liesl said absently, wrapping her hands around Marta and Gretl's tiny fingers. "Why would we make trouble for you?" There was something in that phrase he could not quite place, some indication he felt he should recognize though it eluded him. His children filed out of the room as silently as they had entered, not marching as he would have seen them do hardly more than a week earlier.

He did not know these creatures that called themselves his children, he realized that now. He had recognized those he had left behind when he made his way to Vienna the week before, but these—he had no memory of them! How had they changed so much in that very short time?

Walking to his desk, his eyes caught the pile of photographs on the floor, lying atop one another every which way, one or two turned upside down from the fall. Her face was still beautiful, still perfect in every manner, in every category he could design. Kneeling to gather them in his hands, he blinked hard as tears burned in his eyes.

Had his children truly changed so greatly? Or had it been he who had abandoned them to the mercies of one governess after another, running from the memories that they revived within him? _Their_ voices filtered into his study as he straightened, the pile of photographs clutched in his trembling hand. One of his children played the piano—Liesl, he assumed, for it was she he had begun to teach so many years before—and seven voices worked their way through the words of a song he could not understand, muffled by the walls and dulled by the hallway.

Though the words flowed together into a mass of song he could not comprehend, he knew the pitches to be true, matching precisely the piano that was somehow still properly tuned. How long had it been since he had let his fingers touch its keys, allowed his heart work through those songs he could still recall? Never since Agathe died. _No,_ he remembered, _it has been longer, not since she—_

He could not turn to that once again, not now. But those pictures, so very close to him, he almost felt her beside him, felt her breath in his hair, on his face as he had so many times before. And the water in his eyes came again—one, two, three drops spilling from over the lids. He could scarcely even look at her face, how could he draw near to him his children, the living reminders of her?

His fingers wrapped around the handle of his topmost desk drawer, pulling it out to hide those images. If he did not see them, he could forget. His hand jerked back as the scuttling of insects echoed in his ears—the entire drawer was filled with black beetles, crawling over one another, along the sides, working their way towards his hand. Pressing the drawer closed quickly, the photographs still clutched in his hand trembled, for he had no place to conceal them, and _her_ eyes would fall upon him once more.

That collection of beetles in his desk was another of his children's tricks, he assumed—and one that Louisa had surely conceived of. Among them all, only she had such an affinity for things that crawled. Someday, he would set her the punishment she deserved, for this and for all the sufferings of governesses at her hands.

He could hear steps coming closer, clicking through the muffled words of his children's song, and he did not know whether he wished for or hoped against Elsa's presence. It was not Elsa that walked through the door, though: it was Max, and he found himself breathing easier.

"Now where on earth are those lovely voices coming from?" Max asked as he wandered into his friend's study. He recognized each and every one, but he enjoyed toying with Georg. He fancied himself fortunate that his friend permitted it. "Absolutely amazing, Georg. Tell me, does my mind deceive me, or are those the voices of your seven charming children?"

The Captain turned his face a bit to Max, glowering unapologetically at his boisterous friend. "Unfortunately," he said, resting his thigh heavily against that drawer filled with those, "you are correct."

"Hardly unfortunate, I should say," Max said, approaching Georg. "They're marvelous."

"I would rather they forgot all about it," the Captain said, letting the collection of photographs fall from his hand to the desk, "along with the one who taught them to do so."

Max could not contain a shiver at his friend's coolness without effort, but he managed to keep the tremor still. Near enough to the desk to see the stack of pictures, he swallowed about the lump that sprang up in his own throat. _Agathe,_ he knew. He and Georg had been friends since childhood, nearly all their lives, and Max had never seen him happier than when he was near Agathe. But just as she had been the cause of his uncommon joy, she was the source of his despair. "You can't truly mean that," he said, picking each word carefully.

"Believe me, Max, I _can,_" the Captain snapped. "Do not speak about things you do not know."

"She could not wish you to be so despondent," Max said, bracing for the anger that would come. Georg never appreciated being told his business, but about Agathe—concerning her, he would accept no advice. But he would not be pushed to the side, not this time. He had endured his friend's sudden transformation after her death, his coldness, his anger, but he would not let him forget everything that existed apart from her.

"I don't give a damn what she would want!" he shouted, turning sharply on his heel and closing the space between the two of them. His entire body trembled with the rage that filled him suddenly, his mind knowing nothing but the anger. "And why should I, when she has abandoned me—and our children!"

"She hardly abandoned you, my friend—you must remember that death does not listen to pleas for mercy. But perhaps you should think of what she would want, Georg," Max said, finding a strength he had never truly exercised before. He had never aroused Georg's anger this much—mostly it was irritation he managed to bring out in his friend—but this was something that needed to be done; it was something he should have done all those years ago. "I cannot imagine Agathe smiling upon your treatment of your children."

"I have already endured enough commentary about the way in which I am raising them from that—hooligan that was their governess, Max," the Captain said through gritted teeth, "and I do not wish to hear it from you."

"Then I shall leave you alone to consider it," he answered, stepping back from his old friend, towards the door. "I really believe that you should." He opened his mouth to speak again, but for once held his tongue; he had gotten himself into enough trouble this day already.

* * *

"What must I have you do to maintain order?" the Captain shouted, appalled that not a one of his children bore an apologetic look for what they had done. He paced before them, glancing at them at every other step, pristine in their evening attire. Each face was blank, though Kurt's had hunger plastered beneath that emptiness. "How will you be persuaded to keep yourselves disciplined, or are you all too childish for such things? I would have thought that you, Liesl and Friedrich—you two could keep yourselves and your siblings well behaved, but clearly I was mistaken." 

Liesl's face remained perfectly composed, peaceful almost, and she spoke with confidence. "If you wish us to be disciplined, Father," she said, her hands tucked demurely behind her back, "then bring back Fräulein Maria."

"So that she will allow you to run about, doing as you please?" he snarled, pausing in his stride. "So that she would allow you waste your holidays in mindless pursuits. I think not, Liesl." Had they merely kept their tricks upon him—perhaps extended them even to Max—he did not think he would find himself so angry, but even Elsa had not escaped their plottings.

_The time had come for dinner, held at eight as it had been every night since Agathe died; she had preferred dining earlier. Unwilling to force Elsa to make her entrance to the dining room alone, he had gone to escort her. Knocking softly on her door, he had been surprised to hear a ruffled and irritated voice demand that he wait a minute._

_"Elsa," he had asked, "is something the matter?" In the whole of his friendship—his courtship with her, he had never seen Elsa either ruffled or irritated. Like the most posh of Vienna's socialites, she had unimagined skill in masking her emotions; one who knew her only from a distance might find her cold._

_Her feet had tapped across the finely carpeted floor—some shade of red, if he recalled correctly—and her hand caught the door handle within hesitantly, he could tell. Elsa had a confidence about her that was almost unmatched in his friends, surprising though it was such a small group. Except for Agathe, maybe, who could meet his own stubbornness full force. And—_

_The thought had vanished as she allowed the door to swing inward, revealing her disheveled face through the narrow crack. "What on earth..." he had begun to say, but as her hand had wrapped about the edge of door, he had known that silence was better._

_"A little treasure, I would say," she had said, trying to not show her complete anger, "left in my bathroom by one of your children." Her usually perfectly made face was smeared with a light colored grease, one or two chunks clinging to her cheekbones. "I picked up my soap to wash my face, Georg, and discovered it had been replaced."_

_He heard the deftness with which she avoided blatantly accusing his children of anything ill, but she need not have done so for his sake; he would soon take the role of accuser upon himself. "Please, Elsa," he had said, dropping his gaze to the tiled floor in his embarrassment, shuffling his feet, "allow me to apologize for the mischief of my children. I do not know what has come over them since I have returned."_

_"You fired their governess," she said simply, wiping one of the larger pieces of grease from her face with a long, thin finger. "They seemed to be quite fond of her, seeing how they wept last night at dinner."_

_"Perhaps," he allowed, biting his lip before he would permit himself to look her in the eye again, "but this is unacceptable." There could only be one set of consequences, but it would not be enough to undo what his children had committed. "If you will excuse me, Elsa, I will have something sent round to you in a bit."_

_"Thank you, Georg," she had whispered, reaching her hand out to touch his face in gratitude. Offering him a half smile, she had closed the door quietly, and he had gone to find his children, and the release of this new anger. Years had passed since he had truly stomped down a flight of stairs, but he had done so, each foot echoing his building fury that would not be contained._

_They had been sitting in the dining room, each in his or her seat, patiently and obediently awaiting their father, the Baroness, and Uncle Max, as though they had done nothing wrong. "Come with me," he had snapped as he caught sight of them, answered by their quickly turning heads. "Now!"_

There had been few arguments between any of the children and their father in the years since their mother's death, but in those few, the Captain had won easily, quelling his children's words with his own rage. _Not now,_ Liesl thought, _not this time. This time, we shall trump _him. Her courage she quickly found in her heart, and her words she had practiced since she heard her father order Fräulein Maria to pack her bags.

"We did not waste our time with her, Father," she said, holding her face calmly, her hands unmoving behind her back. "We spent it in activities you simply did not appreciate. For once, we found we had pleasure in our lives because we found someone at last who loved us because she chose to." Her words were spilling out recklessly, now, and she did not care. "And every minute we spent with her was pleasant for it, rather than waiting for you to return from Vienna to push us to one side again because we remind you too much of Mother. We came to love her because _she_ chose to love us first, rather than simply keep us in line as you ordered her. We had from her what we could not have from you, who keep us only because you must!"

The Captain had not known that his daughter's vitriolic words could sting with such a ferocity, a pain that he had never known even in the Navy. Her diatribe almost reeked of...hatred more than anger, and making his way to the end of his children's line, he could see each child's face mirroring the same rage. Had it come to this—his own children _hated_ him?

"Y—you are my children," he snapped at last, stammering on the first word, "and therefore you will be seen and not heard. I will not listen to this foolishness—"

"Yes, you _will_, Father," Liesl said, her words rising above his own, her strength pushing her forward through her fear. "You do not have us remain here because you love us: we are here because we have nowhere else to go! We have not gone, Father, but you have. Every time you have refused to love us, and refused our love, you are running from the memories of Mother."

"Now, _you_ will be silent," he said, the tremblings of before vanished into the coolness that rose about him once again. "I am appalled by your treatment of Baroness Schräder. She is a guest in this home, and I had expected you to treat her with the same courtesy—more, actually—that you have for Uncle Max. I am sorry to say that I have been supremely disappointed in every one of you. Now, you will return to your rooms, and think on what you have done. I don't care to hear anything from you at all the rest of the night. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Father," Liesl said simply, nodding her head for her brothers and sisters. To answer anything else would be to beg his forgiveness, something she would not and could not do.

"Then go!" If they remained near him any longer, he would find himself considering just what Liesl had said—shouted at him, and he did not think he would be able to maintain his anger.

The possibility of that emptiness terrified him.

* * *

"Here you are, dears," Frau Schmidt said, setting the large breakfast tray down in the center of the older girls' room. All the children were gathered there, already changed into their night things and feeling their stomachs rumble from the punishment of two nights' worth of missed dinners. Their hand had been played; whatever came of it, no one could ever deny that they had made the most of their effort. 

"Thank you, Frau Schmidt," Liesl said under her breath. "I don't think it would be right for Marta and Gretl to miss dinner a second time in two days."

"I wouldn't dream of permitting it," she said with a sad smile. Really, the Captain needed some sense knocked into him, the sort of beating that young governess had been prepared to give him. "Just don't let your father know I allowed you to eat up here, dears." The younger children clamored about the tray excitedly; they had never before eaten any place but the dining room, and the new experience delighted them all. Kurt in particular reached out for one of the slices of bread and the knife slanted in the jar of strawberry jam, his energy motivated more by hunger than by the novelty.

"Tea!" Brigitta exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together, her mind drawn back to that mountain picnic. "Tea with jam and bread!" Louisa caught what she meant and smiled broadly.

"Sew, a needle pulling thread!" she began singing in a low voice, putting out her hand to claim a slice of the white loaf, then reaching for the jar of raspberry jam, leaving the strawberry in Kurt's grasp. "La, a note to follow Sew!"

"Tea, a drink with jam and bread!" Brigitta added, serving herself tea in one of the cups set about the edge of the tray. "That will bring us back to—"

"Doe!" the children whispered together, and they collapsed into giggles as they ate their way through odd meal, enjoying the strange, new sensations they would have only thought possible with Fräulein Maria. Whatever would come of her now, they had done all they could.


	18. An End

**Chapter 18: An End**

Her knees burned as she scrambled to her feet from her personal prayers, hearing the bells chime out the hour above her head. Even Sister Berthe had not been able to deny that her punctuality had undergone rapid improvement since she returned; consequently, having risen in the nun's graces even that slight bit, Maria had had no occasion to kiss the floor as yet.

Closing the door to her small room heavily, she tucked her arms into her habit, weaving her fingers together. The time for the convent's evening prayers had come, and it was a meeting she had often missed before. Her skirts swished about her knees as she hurried to join the throng of nuns, novices, and postulants flowing out into the hallway, falling into the crowd in a moment.

The ache of being at the abbey had lessened considerably through the night and the day that had followed, pushed aside by a wealth of activity. It was easier to remember the children through a haze of tasks—the pain at their absence could not bite so sharply—but even through that filter, she marveled that she had come to love them so deeply in less than a week.

There was something else, though, an idea she could not place. She need only think of the children, and her thoughts would soon flit to their father, to the wonder he had created in her without effort, to his face and the strength he must possess—and at that point, she typically seized control of her will once again and thrust those images from her mind. For remaining so elusive even through her consideration, the idea had driven her to distraction. Turning her eyes to the heavens, the last bit of the day's clear blue sky visible around wisps of cloud above the abbey's courtyard, she silently asked for guidance— And grunted as her body solidly impacted someone in a black habit.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she mumbled, her folded arms again bumping the back of the woman before her as she fought for her balance. Even with all the work set to her, her mind was still—oh, what had she heard the nuns say as she had clutched at the stitch in her chest from her sprint down the Untersberg—flighty as a feather. The black-covered head turned to her, and Maria was relieved to see Sister Sophia beneath the wimple.

"There is nothing to apologize for," the nun said with a smile for the dazed postulant, reaching out to squeeze Maria's upper arm. "I understand you've recently had a confusing few days, my dear."

"Yes, just a bit," Maria said, nodding.

"But it is wonderful to see you back here," Sister Sophia continued, beckoning Maria to walk with her to the chapel. "And even more wonderful to see you now—at evening prayers." She didn't bother to conceal her smile.

"Thank you, Sister," Maria said, working her head once more. Her steps fell on the worn stones of the hallway without thought, without her hearing them. Sister Sophia's chattering faded into the background of Maria's mind, running while she heard each word, but did not listen.

She stood on the terrace again, angry words flowing from her mouth as she berated the Captain, demanding he listen to her, take note of what she said to him! She did not understand—that moment had been her undoing, the reason for her dismissal, but she would rather live that time again than dwell at the abbey any longer. The strange sensation that had grown in her heart, just for a moment, that warmth that had filled her though she stood drenched and shivering—she wished to have it all again. "No," she whispered to herself beneath Sister Sophia's constantly moving words. "It is nothing."

Not waiting to enter the chapel, Maria began her prayer silently in her mind, willing Sister Sophia's remarks aside. _My dear Father,_ she began, _please help me. Guide me. I do not understand what is happening to me._ Reaching out her hand to hold the door open for the older woman at her side, she sighed. _I cannot send him from me on my own strength. I cannot do this alone.

* * *

_

_"__You do not have us remain here because you love us: we are here because we have nowhere else to go!__"_ He could hear Liesl's angry words spoken again and again in his mind, cycling around his skull and echoing just as that poem had that morning, refusing to be silenced.

How could she say such a hateful thing, that he did not love them? They were his children, all that remained of his wife in this world. He loved them beyond anything he knew in his life! His feet crossed the polished wood of his study another time, the only movement he had made since dismissing his children, and her words—the governess's words—pounded in his ears, repeating themselves again and again.

_"They love you too much,"_ she had said—shouted—as he dismissed her claim of his children's unhappiness. _"They fear you too much."_ They _fear_ you.

Fear.

And tonight, dripping from Liesl's words, easily painted across every face was a new emotion _he_ feared in them—hatred for him. And only him.

He rubbed his eyes deeply, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settled upon his entire frame. His body demanded rest, but his mind was as alert as ever, reminding him sharply of his service in the Navy, of remaining awake for days at a time, not for want of rest but for want of the possibility of sleep.

He could not remain awake, though; the memories of the evening would torment him too easily. In his dreams, at least, he could hope for an escape. Venturing into the foyer, his eyes were drawn upward to the family's quarters. The hall to his children's rooms was dim and empty of movement. Farther along the initial hall lay the guest rooms, two currently made use of by Elsa and Max. He had heard heavy feet make their way up and down those stairs an hour earlier—one of the servants taking pity on his hungry children, he assumed—but the house had fallen silent aside from his clicking heels.

It was better that way, he knew as he entered his library, it was simpler in this quiet. Utter silence combined with a tome in which Brigitta would struggle to maintain an interest was the perfect recipe for sleep, and one he was more than willing to attempt. His fingers slid along one shelf, the one he knew to be filled to bursting with books even his daughter would find dull. But those were not their titles, nor were the authors lined in order. His eyes flew to the next shelf, seeing the same—Goethe after Melville, next to Austen and Kipling.

_Another of my children's _tricks, he thought, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms on his chest. "I can see, Fräulein," he said under his breath, tapping his fingers in irritation, "just how much my children fear me. In the course of a single day, they loose their jests on myself and Elsa. How great do you think that fear is, Fräulein?"

On another day, he might have continued his search for that dull book, but this night he had not the heart. Pushing himself from the desk, he left his library again, crossing the foyer to his study. Turning his head to glance up toward his children's rooms, he could see a faint glimmer of light from the nearest room along the small corridor. "They truly are in need of a governess," he said as he shook his head. "Even Liesl."

Perhaps her most of all. _"I'm Liesl,"_ he had heard her say that first day, her voice echoing impatiently from the foyer, _"I'm sixteen years old, and I don't need a governess."_ In that moment, he had been certain that this girl would be the most short-lived of his children's governesses, that Liesl's impatience at becoming an adult would drive her away with ease. Yet it seemed Liesl among all his children needed their _fräulein_ the most.

_Is that it? _he asked himself as he came into his study once again. _Need?_ Had their need for their _fräulein_ overcome the fear she said they possessed for him, driven them to become jesters of the worst sort? "They are most definitely in need of a governess," he said again, the words steeling him as he lifted a folded sheet of paper from his desk.

The references for the next governess he had scouted for his children, a Fräulein Sara Haas, seemed nearly perfect. She had experience handling five children at once, children ages fourteen to three years, and had done such work for the past ten years. _No,_ he thought, _she _is _perfect. Now the only matter is if she will manage to avoid being sent off by their tricks._

He sighed. That was the difficulty with every woman who had ever looked after his children—they could not find enough power to keep themselves from coming under fire. He allowed the letter to drop to the dark wooden desktop, wishing her every luck in the world. But it did not drop where it had lain before, and there were her eyes again, staring out from one of those photographs he could not hide.

Her voice had been lovely—as beautiful as her face and as loving as her soul—and that same talent, it seemed, she had bequeathed to their children. "They _are_ wonderful," he whispered, dropping to sit in his chair. No amount of lessons could replace raw talent, but talent alone was not enough—it required a forge to make it great.

_"She hardly abandoned you,"_ Max had said, suddenly unwilling for his belief to be trampelled upon. _"Death does not listen to pleas for mercy. But perhaps you should think of what she would want."_ But how was he to know what she might want? How was he to be certain that at her death, her spirit had not ceased to be, falling into the same nothingness that had surely consumed her body by now? Could he even believe that something lay beyond his eyes, be certain that the god he had prayed to for so many years filled the universe?

No, he could not and _would_ not convince himself of that. Even with all the evils he had endured, far more good had come into his life, wonderful memories—Agathe, their children, his friends and remaining family—people and things that could not be the product of chance. His lips twitched into a small smile at the thought of Max as a friend, rather than as an acquaintance or Uncle Max; it had been years since he had seen him in that light.

Was the man right? He hated to consider the possibility, and if asked he would never admit to it, but he feared himself entirely in the wrong. The longer his thoughts stayed upon that, the more he _knew_ Max to be correct: Agathe would despise what he had done, shoving their children aside. Moreover, though, she would hate that he had done it solely on her account.

His fingers strayed to the topmost picture on the pile, a photograph of his wife holding their eldest son in her lap, smiling as the boy pouted, unwilling to be clutched so tightly. Children at one year of age were rarely pleased at the prospect of sitting still for anything. The face on that child was so similar to the one the boy bore now, but he no longer knew the young man behind it. How long had it been since he and Friedrich had simply talked as a father might talk to his son, about simple things? Years.

His fingers began to ply at his eyes again, fighting the exhaustion he was suddenly feeling. Even his blinking was too tempting, and his head began to droop forward, the weight of the remembered sorrow pounding upon his body. Sliding Friedrich's photograph aside, he laid his forehead against the smooth wood by his hand. _How many years has it been since I have done this? _he asked himself as his head shifted to one side to rest on his cheek. _How long has it been since I was so weary? _He had no answer as he drifted into sleep, lacking even the energy to switch off the lamp beside his hand.

_He could feel her so near, her simple presence almost a drug, the sweetest wine upon his tongue. "Agathe," his voice called as his hand reached out, hardly remembering how she had left him the time before. And there were her fingers, laced through his own as her other hand rose to his face._

_"I have missed you, my love," she whispered. "I know that you have been despairing." He could not answer her, remembering her angry words before, now knowing the truth within them. "Why did you send her away?" she continued, her voice sweet and cool. "She has long been in your thoughts: for her silliness since you first beheld her, and for her cleverness since dinner her first evening with you. Why were you so eager to be rid of her?"_

_"Because," he began, only for his voice to falter as he let her fingers drop from his grasp, even as her hand was cool, stroking his cheek. No, he could not say it, not to her—she who was still so much a part of him, still so strongly planted in his heart._

_"Darling," she said, knowing what tormented him, "I have passed beyond your world. You are no longer bound to me." Her grip tightened about his right hand, her fingers twisting from side to side the wedding band she had set upon his ring finger so many years ago. "Why have you sent her from you when I can see she already sits pleasantly in your mind, not merely as our children's governess, but as person—as a woman?"_

_"Because I am afraid, Agathe," he whispered, leaning into her touch, yearning for that sense. It had been so long since he had thought of her, let alone heard her voice, felt her fingers on his skin. How many years until this week, until his children's beloved governess had come into this house?_

_"My sea captain?" she said in disbelief, tapping her fingers against his cheek lightly. "Never. You are too hardy to succumb to fear. But if you are, then why? Are you afraid of being hurt again? Dearest Georg, you mustn't be afraid of that, because it will come, and you will have to endure it when the pain does."_

_"It's not that." How did one find these words? "What I've buried for so long, the love that lead me to you—I am afraid that if I release it, I will find that I do not hate where it leads me."_

_"You would hate it if it leads you to happiness?" she asked, her laughter a chime like bells. "No, my love, you must allow your heart to take you where it desires, to follow its path. It may not be easy, Georg, but you must let it lead."_

_"I love you," he whispered, reaching his hand up to grip her fingers tightly again. How difficult he had found those words to say while she lived, and now they flowed from his tongue without thought, as if natural! He wished only that he had had the courage to speak them to her living face. But what right did he have to say so to her now, when her death lay at his feet—_

_"And I thank you for remembering," she said, leaning towards him to press her lips against his forehead, her dark hair sweeping across his face. His old despondence had been written across his face. "I hope that you always will, Georg, but you must continue on in your life." Her fingers brushed his face a final time as his tears burned...

* * *

_

Frau Schmidt stifled a quiet yawn as she traipsed down the stairs from the servants' quarters. Her breath caught in her throat each time she passed the governess's now empty room, wondering about what might have been. In her short stay at the villa, the children had found a person they could love. _Almost as a mother,_ she added to herself, gaining the foyer.

She had often questioned the Captain's decisions in her heart, but what he had done to his children—that, she had considered time and again bringing to him in full force. She shook her head, though; it would do no good to find herself out of a job for a thing she had no power to alter.

Continuing along the foyer, illuminated only by the gray light of the early dawn, Frau Schmidt squinted at the burst of light in her eyes from a still lit lamp as she neared her employer's study. Just as the previous morning, no other soul in the house had a reason to be up at this time—the clock on her bedside table had read just past five when she left her room. _Except, of course, for mischief,_ she thought, biting her lip to contain her smile.

She knew that she should have reprimanded those three children, demanded they show their hands and confess their crime, but...She did not know why she had allowed them to go. _They had taken punishment enough,_ she thought, _losing their fräulein. _Nearing the door to the Captain's study, the interior of the room came into her vision, the lit desk lamp burning her eyes.

The ache fading as quickly as it had come, she ventured a cautious step into the room, narrowing her eyes as a dark shape hunched over the desk becoming visible in the light. Every inch she drew nearer, it took greater definition, finally—clearly—the profile of the Captain against the wood. She had never seen him this way before, so tired, appearing almost old, worn down by his cares. His cheeks sparkled with the salty tracks of his tears—had she ever seen him weep, she wondered—and his breathing was ragged.

The housekeeper was hardly ever at a loss for a course of action, but now she found herself confused. She could not wake him—not when he slept so soundly, his face exhausted and pained, but wearing a quiet peace. Should she allow him his rest, surely to be shattered at the emergence of his children? The Von Trapp children were very polite and well-mannered, but they _were_ children, a distinction Maria emphatically made, and children could hardly be expected to maintain quiet in the morning.

Stepping back into the foyer, Frau Schmidt shook her head gently. The man had been as cold and tightly wound as ever for the past days, but she could only hope that something lay beneath the façade that now appeared to be crumbling. His face had been filled with considerations, as though questions and doubts were running in his mind in spite of his best efforts to hold them down. Yet now...that peace written upon his countenance, that quiet certainty, as though a heavy weight was now gone.

The pale light of the morning was peering through the window of the study, casting its shadow upon him as she continued on to the kitchen to busy herself with planning the day's meals. Whatever was to come of it she would know in due time.


	19. Awakening

**Chapter 19: Awakening**

"Come along, children!" Frau Schmidt said, clapping her hands impatiently as she walked along the hallway. "Up you get!" Opening the door to the older girls' room, she smiled indulgently at the children still buried within their sheets and quilts despite the heat of the morning, their arms thrown over the edge of their beds and their hair mussed in their braids. They were so peaceful when at rest, and so full of commotion and life the remainder of the day. "Come on," she said, louder this time as she half-stepped through the door, "out of bed."

Brigitta, surprisingly, was the first to stir, shifting her head on her pillow as her bleary eyes opened to the bright sunshine. "Already?" she mumbled, turning her body to press her face into her linen pillowcase.

"Yes, my dears," she said patiently, "if you wish to make it to breakfast on time. You know your father—" She stopped as her mind fled back to the man she had seen, collapsed on his desk hours earlier. "Your father will not be pleased if you are late for breakfast." Brigitta groaned, but shoved her sheets aside to swing her feet over the edge of her bed.

"You, too," the housekeeper said to the forms of Liesl and Louisa that were just beginning to rouse themselves. "At this rate, you'll all be caught in the bathroom at the same moment." The elder girls' eyes opened at this possibility, and Liesl actually fell from her bed, taking her top sheet with her, wrapped around her waist. "Well I'm very pleased that worked. When you're all presentable, wait in the hall, so that I can speak to you."

Brigitta lowered her arms, busied with unworking the hair from her braid, and Louisa, her arms extended as she stretched, still sitting in bed, froze, her face newly alert. "Nothing you need be concerned about," Frau Schmidt said, waving her arms. "I just feel that I should speak with all of you before you go downstairs, and I would rather only say it once."

Liesl scrambled to her feet, smoothing her nightgown along her thighs then piling her now mussed sheets on to her mattress. Her visage lacked the same quiet acceptance as her sisters. "Do not worry, Liesl," the housekeeper said quickly, stepping into the corridor again. "Just get yourself ready for the day; I'll take care of the little ones."

* * *

"What is it?" Louisa asked as the housekeeper returned with Gretl and Marta in tow. Frau Schmidt had to wonder at just how easily habits could be changed, in some; the children were normally loath to leave the warmth of their beds in the morning, yet here they were, all bright-eyed and pristine in their uniforms in the hallway. For the elder Von Trapp girls particularly, their dressing and washing had been completed in record time, and with little of the commotion that typified the use of their bathroom. Only the younger girls had any sign upon them that they had so recently been awoken. 

"Nothing that you had need to worry over," she said again, repeating the same assurance she had given Friedrich and Kurt as she had wrenched them from their dozes. She held in a sigh; perhaps this had been a mistake, for all but the youngest of the children had concern spread across their faces as they gathered closer to their housekeeper.

"I am sorry that I allowed you to worry," she added, dropping Gretl and Marta's hands. "I simply wished to tell you before you went downstairs that I need you to all be very quiet this morning, much more than usual. Your father is still asleep—in his study—"

_"What?"_ Liesl exclaimed, slapping her hand over her mouth as soon as the loud word was released. Frau Schmidt gave her a harsh glance. "I'm sorry," she said, quieter now, "but I can't believe that. Father is far too controlling of himself to do that."

"Nevertheless," the housekeeper said, "he is, and I would prefer you not wake him." Her stern eyes trailing from the confused faces of one child to another, she did not need their words for affirmation. "So, go on, get your breakfast."

Their descent of the stairs was far quicker than the morning before, their steps taken in care to mute their noise, and Liesl cringed as her shoes clicked sharply on the polished wooden floor in the foyer. The dining room lay on the left side of the house, tucked away in the back beneath the family's rooms, but her feet, the first to reach the lower level of the house, took her far from where breakfast would be served.

"Liesl," Frau Schmidt hissed, but the girl did not stop her run to her father's study, determined to see for herself. At the threshold to the room, she gasped, clutching the door frame for support as her heart fair ceased to beat.

She had never seen her father that way before, appearing so tired and worn. More feet sounded behind her, and she heard small murmurs from her brothers and sisters, words of amazement and wonder. This was not the man who had chastised them for their tricks the night before; no, this man was wearied by a weight of sorrow instead of anger, and his visage bore the traces of pain they had not seen upon their father for years.

"What happened?" asked Gretl without a care to how loud she spoke. "Why is Father at his desk already?" Louisa's hand rapped her shoulder sharply, receiving a whimper.

"Be quiet," she whispered, turning her eyes to Gretl for a moment. The little girl had been prepared to be mad, but her sister's face had no anger, only an emotion she could not place. "You don't want to wake him, do you?"

"No!" the little girl cried, then clapped her hand over her mouth, just as Liesl had done a few minutes earlier. "I'm sorry." Louisa only smiled and bent to hug her, something she had not done for years; wrapping her arms around her youngest sibling, feeling Gretl's tiny head on her shoulder, she wondered that she had not done it for such a length of time.

"All right, now," Frau Schmidt said, more annoyed than anything, "you've seen your father. Let him sleep. Into the dining room with you now. Go eat your breakfast." Settling her hand on Liesl's shoulder, she pulled the eldest child from the door frame. Capturing her eyes, the housekeeper added quietly, "Let him have his peace."

On this morning, conversation over the plates piled high with various foods was subdued not by the force of anger, but by concerned and hungry children. _Speckknödel_ and eggs were spread across more plates than any of the children could see, flanked by stacks of toast and jars of strawberry and raspberry jam. Tall pitchers of frothing milk and orange juice sat at every second place.

They were ravenous, filling their plates with what would have been two good helpings for any of them, other than Kurt, on a normal day. Brigitta had finished her eggs and was making good progress on her first slice of toast, smeared with strawberry jam, when she cast the housekeeper a curious look. "Frau Schmidt," she said, and the old woman, sitting in the chair that had always been their governess's, glanced up from the piece of dry toast she was eating.

"Yes, Brigitta?" she said, letting the bread drop to her plate. Had the day begun as her days in the Von Trapp family had before, she would have permitted the children to dine by themselves, but this morning...She did not think it wise to leave them alone in the house.

"Where are Uncle Max and the Baroness?" she asked, setting her teeth on her toast as soon as she finished her question.

"They do not have a father who wishes them up at a decent hour," she answered, not bothering to hide her contempt for such slovenly habits. Louisa bit a giggle at this, almost snorting as she tried to swallow her milk. "Well, don't hurt yourself, child!" the housekeeper said, trying to snap, but finding herself wanting to laugh as well. "Hurry up, all of you. There's no reason you should be inside on such a lovely day as this."

"Just as long as we don't have to be _drilled in our studies_ when we get back," Kurt grumbled through a bite of _Speckknödel_. His own plate was still almost completely covered as he tried to fill his stomach with enough food to make up for his two consecutive missed dinners.

"I wouldn't know," Frau Schmidt said, taking up her piece of toast again. "But do eat. Think of all the time you'll have to enjoy this day." The remainder of the breakfast passed in silence, broken only by requests to pass one plate or another, or a pitcher of milk or orange juice. All were too busy with their frenzied eating, enjoying everything placed before them.

When even Kurt had cleared his plate and most of the eggs had vanished to the confines of the children's stomachs, Frau Schmidt shooed them out into the foyer. "Outside with you!" she commanded, corralling them towards the front door. Many of the elder children cast wistful glances at their father's study, perfectly willing to stand by the door in silence, just watching him be at peace. "Go on," she said gently.

Catching the housekeeper's eyes, Liesl nodded sadly. Reaching for Gretl and Marta's hands, she pulled them forward through the crowd of their siblings. "Come along," she said in an undertone, drawing Brigitta and Louisa's faces as well. Friedrich caught the door handle with his hand and held it open for his sisters and brother to pass through, offering Frau Schmidt a nod of his head.

"Have fun," she said as he let the door fall closed behind him. She smiled at the strangeness of that word, spoken to the Von Trapp children. _The Von Trapp children don't play. They march._ She had told that to Maria her very first night in the villa, and now, hardly more than a week later, she instructed those very same children to have _fun?_ It was good, she decided, that the girl had come, even if for such a short time.

She had to wonder, did the Captain truly know what his distance from his children had done to them, that they had begun to build those same walls that he had, especially Louisa? No, she did not think he did, or at least, he had _not_ known. But Maria, she had led him by the hand as one led a child with its eyes clenched shut to a prize it did not think it wanted. All he had to do was open those eyes, and he would see his children once again. A sinking sensation in her heart, the housekeeper sighed. Habits could be difficult to change, to say the least, and she did not know if the Captain could save himself in time. He was not as adaptable as his children.

* * *

The children were gathered outside the door with no intention to go on the walk as their father would surely instruct if he were awake, Liesl trying to keep the youngest two occupied while the others chattered quietly. "I don't believe it," Brigitta said, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. "That's not something Father has ever done before." 

Squinting in the bright morning sun, Louisa scowled at her younger sister. "There are lots of things that Father has never done before," she said. "It doesn't mean that he won't get around to them."

"He'd be furious with us for doing something like that," Brigitta continued, shoving the sleeves of her uniform up to her elbows. She missed the dress that Fräulein Maria had made for her; it was far more comfortable than the sailor's outfit she wore now, especially in the heat of the day.

"All that means is he's becoming a hypocrite!"

"Must you argue about everything, Louisa?" Liesl asked, rubbing at a speck of dirt from the previous day that Frau Schmidt had missed on Marta's face in her hurry.

"No," Louisa said, shielding her face with her hand. "Only if the other person speaking is wrong...or Friedrich."

"What is that supposed to mean?" her brother snapped, stalking away from the door on to the circular gravel driveway that lead from the road to the front door.

"You know exactly what it means," she answered, bending her legs to sit before the threshold of the door. "So I won't pretend to explain it to you."

"One would hardly know that you two were growing up," Liesl said, turning Marta's face upwards to examine it, smiling as she was satisfied it was clean. "I really think you should make more of an effort to get along." Switching her gaze to Gretl's face, she added quietly, "You know how Father loathes arguments."

"No, he doesn't," Louisa said, her head shooting up. "He just doesn't like being disturbed. He'll have any bloody argument so long as he approves of its taking place and thinks he can win."

"Louisa." There was warning in Liesl's voice. She would never admit it to the girl, but she knew Louisa to be correct; where else would she have found her love of confrontation? Certainly not from their mother!

"Well, you can't deny _that,_" Louisa said, digging her heels into the gravel beneath her shoes. Dust flew in the air, drifting to settle on her white, knee high socks. "You know what happened with Fräulein Maria: they practically had a screaming match. No, wait—they _did_ have a screaming match!"

"I would hardly call that normal, though," Brigitta said, stooping to fidget with one or two of the stones that surrounded the flower beds in front of the house. "Nothing was really typical with Fräulein Maria."

"I want her to come back," Gretl whispered, leaning in to hug Liesl about the waist as she had done to her _fräulein_ so many times in that short week they had together. Beside her, Marta nodded her agreement, her looped braids bouncing around her face.

"We all want her to come back," Liesl said, ruffling Gretl's loose hair. Frau Schmidt was a wonderful woman, Liesl knew, but she was not a governess; caring for seven children, particularly two very young children, was not a task she was meant to do. It could only be a matter of time before they had a new governess, before Fräulein Maria began to fade from their memories, surely as quickly in the youngest as their mother had.

"Do you think she ever will?" Marta asked, pulling herself closer to her eldest sister. "I miss her."

"I don't know," was all that Liesl could say, biting a small sob. She would not let herself cry, not in front of the little ones. She had to be their strength.

"She won't," Louisa said under her breath, running her fingers through the gravel. It was wonderful to simply feel something, even if it was only the grating sense of rocks against her skin. She didn't know why she spoke, as none of her siblings was paying her any attention. "Father won't let her."

_How long will it be until he marries Baroness Schräder? _Louisa asked herself, drifting to that conversation she had overheard all those weeks ago. _A month? Two? We'll see him even less than we do already!_ She knew she should have told at least Liesl the moment she returned to their room with her book, but something had held her tongue. Eyeing her older sister, she knew it was too late to do anything now. For Louisa to now say what she knew—no, that would cut Liesl too deeply. Liesl tried so very hard to hide her pain, but she had not the skill that Louisa or their father had. She was much more like their mother in that regard; she wore her heart on her sleeve, displaying her pain for all to see.

"Liesl!" a voice shouted from on the lawn. Louisa was pulled from her thoughts as Liesl's head jerked up from her sisters.

"Rolfe!" Liesl called, gently unwrapping Gretl's hands from around her waist. When was the last time she had seen him? The evening Fräulein Maria arrived, the night of that massive storm. Guiding Marta and Gretl away from her, Liesl broke from the group to approach the boy. "It's so good to see you."

Once she was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her, wanting to kiss her just as he had that last night, but his eyes fell on her brothers and sisters. "I've missed you, Liesl," he whispered into her hair. Her being so near was almost enough to compensate for the lost kiss. "I almost sent you a telegram." She smiled at the memory, at how he had told her the telegram he would have sent her. _"__Dear Liesl,"_ he'd started, just as she'd suggested. _"I'd like to be able to tell you how I feel about you. Stop. Unfortunately,"—_he had grinned at her as he said that—_"this wire is already too expensive. Sincerely, Rolfe."_

"And how would you have signed it?" she asked as she pulled away from him, remembering her siblings just a few meters away.

"Oh, affectionately," he said, dropping his hands from her back. "Without a doubt." He reached into his satchel that hung at his side, pulling out a folded slip of paper after a moment of searching. "But I didn't need to—this is for Baroness Schräder. I understand she's staying here."

"Ah, yes," Liesl said, frowning as she remembered the Baroness. Getting lost in thoughts of Rolfe, of Fräulein Maria, it had been so easy to forget that she was still here. She hadn't been out very much the past day, and by Frau Schmidt's comments, it seemed she was still abed. Liesl would fully admit that she did not know Baroness Schräder one bit, but she didn't think she would ever come to like her. She could only hope that what she believed was meant by her father's bringing her to visit did not—

"Liesl?" His voice drew her back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, glancing down to hide her embarrassment. "Um, I'll take it to her." She didn't see Rolfe's eyebrows knit together. As much as she would like to have spent the morning with him, she had to worry about her brothers and sisters. _Is that all_? she asked herself. It wasn't a question she could answer. "I really am sorry, Rolfe," she said again, trying to smile at him.

Rolfe just shook his head. "It's all right, Liesl. I've got some more telegrams to deliver, anyway." He leaned in to her and kissed her cheek lightly. He paused long enough to say, "Good-bye," then returned to the bicycle he had left it leaning against a tree near the edge of the grass that bounded the gravel drive. As he reached it, he turned and waved to her.

Liesl tried to return to the gesture genuinely, but she did not have the heart to do so. Offering her a smile, he threw one of his legs over the bicycle and was on his way. She stood still for a moment, just remembering the feeling of his arms around her.

"Hello?" Louisa called, letting the word linger on her tongue. Turning to her brothers and sisters again, Liesl felt her cheeks flush self-consciously. Kurt's face was screwed up in disgust, and the youngest ones just appeared confused. Friedrich had a look of exasperation, while Louisa and Brigitta exchanged a look that was almost saccharine.

"What?" asked Liesl, trying to keep her hand from rising to her cheek, where he had kissed her.

"Aren't you going to go deliver the Baroness her telegram? I don't think she'd like to get it late."

"Oh, yes," Liesl said, shaking her head. "Will you watch out for the little ones?"

Louisa scowled again. "I suppose. Just along as you get that in to Baroness Schräder before she decides she should have gotten it. I don't want to get yelled at again."

"Don't worry," Liesl said, crossing the space to her siblings. Resting her hand on Gretl's head for a moment, she brought her eyes back to the door. "I'll see she gets it." Breathing deeply as she rubbed her fingers around the folded paper in her hand, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door in, hoping she would not see Frau Schmidt.

* * *

His cheek was tacky as he pulled it away from the hard wood of his desk, and the other was wet with tears he had not known he wept. For the second morning in a row, Georg woke to a headache that consumed his entire awareness, stifling a moan as he rose to sit properly in his chair. His back ached near as much as his skull, the bones cracking as he straightened. 

In the blazing light of the morning that filled his eyes, he could not place just where he was. Glancing down, he realized that he was seated at his desk—that solved the mystery of the sunlight that spilled in through the large window that was not in his bedroom. In the warmth that flooded over him, Georg felt more awake, more alive than he had in years, as though he were a man with a purpose.

His hands flew to his temple, desperate to rub away the ache as he recalled the past two days. He had dismissed Maria, his children had set a plethora of traps throughout the house for himself and Elsa, and—

The words Liesl had said to him last night, they came to Georg again. _We found someone at last who loved us because she chose to...waiting for you to return from Vienna to push us to one side again because we remind you to much of Mother...you are running from the memories of Mother. _"She is right," he said lowly, needing to speak the words as they rushed to his mind with certainty. "And Maria saw it before I could."

Had he just done that? Had he called her simply by her name, rather than addressing her properly as Fräulein? Yes, he had. He shook himself quickly. How could he have done what he did, dismissed her? Did she know how right she had been, that she had seen more clearly than himself his children? She had seen their needs and hungers, the love they were starving for.

His children _needed_ him, Georg knew, they needed so much more than he had given them in the past four years. They needed—and deserved—a father. He would lie to himself no longer: he had been no such thing.

In his heart, next to the buried love he had not been able to show them, he had whispered to himself that he was living for them, that were it not for them, he should have long ago given up on continuing to live. That was the heart of his dissembling: he had forced himself to breathe, but he had not lived. To merely exist was not a life.

"I must live for myself," Georg said, sliding his chair backwards. The joints of his hips cracked as he stood, burning with the tension that had accumulated through the night. First and foremost, he had to live for himself; only then could he live for his children. His mind and heart were lightened at the realization, and even his body felt easier.

Letting his gaze drop, Georg saw again the references for the new governess he had decided upon for his children: Fräulein Sara Haas. Just last night, she had been the perfect solution for his children, but this morning...she would not do. His children would only have one governess; _he_ would only allow them to have one governess.

He searched for a clean sheet of paper across the messed surface of his desk, and as one came away in his hand, the same picture of Agathe that he had found the night previous strayed into Georg's vision. He smiled at her quiet, pleasant frustration as she tried to confine Friedrich's desperate struggling against her grasp. He would always love her, he knew, just as his children would, but his life would have to make its way without her. Reaching for a pen, he began a new letter, so similar to one he had composed perhaps two weeks prior, yet what he would have been unable to pen.

_Madam,  
I am writing to you because I wish to send my deepest apologies to one of your postulants, Maria Rainer, regarding my behavior towards her. I was wrong in dismissing her so rashly. I acted selfishly, without thought of my children, and I would like to request, if at all possible, and if in accord with her own wishes, that she return for the remainder of the summer. The children miss her very dearly, and I would be forever in her debt if she would do my family the great honor of returning as my children's governess._  
_Sincerely,  
Captain Georg von Trapp_

He examined the words carefully, prickling with anger because of their necessity, rather than their existence. Satisfied that it was effused with as much sincerity as his ability with words allowed, Georg folded it evenly, then reached for an envelope. Sliding the letter into the paper confines, he tucked the flap into the body of the envelope. Turning it, he took his pen again and in the same cautious letters, addressed it: _Reverend Mother, Nonnberg Abbey._

"Franz," he called, swallowing quickly after the name left his mouth. His tongue was dry, and the foul aftertaste of those unremembered tears was bitter. The man's steps were quick and measured as always, and the butler appeared in the door after a few moments, just as he had to announce the governess's arrival.

"Yes, Captain?" he asked, stiffening as he stood stationary.

"Please, take the car and deliver this letter to Nonnberg Abbey," Georg said, crossing the room to hand it to the man. As the butler's fingers took hold of it, he couldn't imagine why he had not merely let Franz come to him. _What are you worrying about? _he asked himself. "And please, wait for a response before you return."

The butler raised an eyebrow at the strange instruction, but did not say anything. "Very well, Captain," he ventured after a moment, nodding his head. He turned on his heel, and almost stepped into Liesl. "Forgive me, Fräulein," he said, bowing his head again.

"Oh, it's nothing, Franz," the girl said, backtracking to offer him a clear path, her dark hair swishing about her shoulders. As soon as the doorway was empty, she entered her father's study, biting her tongue to steady her nerves. The words she had flung at him were still in her mind as well; she could not regret speaking them, but she hated them all the same. "Father," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper, "this came for Baroness Schräder."

"Hmm?" he murmured, not hearing what she said. Oh, for Elsa! He had been a terrible host to her, with all that had happened with his children in the past days, but...he would hardly have been any better at any other time.

"A telegram was delivered for the Baroness," Liesl said, proffering the folded paper in her hand.

"Oh, yes," Georg said, shaking his head as he reached to take the paper, setting it on his desk beside the pile of photographs. "I'll give it to her sometime later." She turned to go—his _daughter_ turned to go. "Liesl," he called, and she stopped, turning her face over her shoulder.

"Yes, Father?"

"Please, stay for a moment." How did he make an apology of this magnitude, say that he wished he had not missed the last four years of her life? "Liesl," he said again, "I don't know what to say to you. I know that whatever I—I _do_ say can never make up for what I did to you—what I did to all of you—for the last few years." Georg stepped closer to his daughter, wanting to be so near her for the first time in...he did not know how long. "I am so sorry."

"Father," she whispered, choking on a sob. He pulled her tightly to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, an embrace he had not shared with any of his children in all those long years. The front of his jacket was quickly drenched in her tears, but he would have them fall nowhere else. She was his child; he was the one meant to comfort her.

_When did she become so very tall? _Georg wondered as he held her to him, his chin able to rest easily upon her tresses on the crown of her head. _How long has it been since I have held her thus, and allowed her to rest upon my strength? For how many years have I used them _all_ as my own strength?_

Liesl had suffered more than the others, he could feel that in the shuddering of her body as she tried to hold in her weeping. She had been the rock that the others had stood upon, the one constant they could cling to in the storm. That strength had wrought a terrible toll on her spirit, her mind, her emotions. Brushing the top of her head with a light kiss, Georg hoped that some day, she would forgive him.

They stood quietly for a few minutes, Liesl's tears slowing as her father ran his hand along her back as he had so many times when she was a young child, soothing whatever ache pained her. But she finally drew back from him, raising her hand to her face, wiping the last salty droplets from her reddened eyes. "I should go," she said quietly as he dropped his hands from her back.

"Perhaps," Georg said, nodding a bit. "Going to make sure Louisa and Friedrich haven't managed to start an argument concerning the color of the sky?"

She laughed at that, still scrubbing her eyes, determined to remove all traces of her tears. "They can argue about anything, can't they?"

"Almost." Settling his hand on her shoulder one final time, he smiled at this young woman. Her _fräulein_ had been right—Liesl was hardly a girl anymore. A few more years, and his daughter would be a woman. If she had never come, he might have missed her entirely. "Well, go on," he said, waving her off. She grinned at him, then gained the foyer, nearly breaking into a run. The day before, he would have snapped at her for the noise of her shoes on the wood, but it was now pleasant in his ears.

The sudden silence that filled the room was oppressive as the quiet had never been before. Until this morning, the silence had always been his comfort, but now it only reminded him of the emptiness that had _been_ him. It helped with the ache in his skull, yet...Georg would rather have all the noise in the world if it was produced by his children. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hands, feeling the momentary cessation.

Letting his right hand drop a bit, his eyes fell on the glint of gold that still encircled his ring finger. That band had been on his hand for nearly eighteen years, never removed, hardly even twisted. _No more._ Balancing the thumb and middle finger of his left hand on opposite sides of the ring, Georg slid it from his finger, swallowing it in his grasp.

He would always love her. He promised himself that as he drew up his closed fist, pressing his lips to the folded fingers. He would love her and never forget her, but his life was now separate from hers. Slipping his hand into the pocket of his jacket, Georg allowed the ring to drop. "I am on my own," he whispered. God was now the only source of his strength, one that was, fortunately, infinite...

"Father!" a young voice exclaimed, mixed with rapid steps echoing in the foyer. He'd not even had time to react to the sound when he stumbled backwards from the impact of two small arms grasping him about the waist. Georg glanced down to see Gretl hugging him tightly and catch a glimpse of Marta following her example.

"Oh!" he grunted as Marta squeezed him, knocking him off his center of balance to take his two youngest children to the floor with him as he landed on the lower portion of his back in a tangle of limbs. Even as he struggled to find his breath and right himself, he found he was laughing—at the inanity, the incredulity of it all. Captain Georg von Trapp, collapsed on the floor, captured by two of his daughters! The formation of the thought brought a stronger laugh from his chest. "My children," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around Gretl and Marta, pulling them close to him.

Brigitta and Louisa were soon on the floor as well, almost choking him as they hugged him around the neck, the only part of him they could reach. In that abandoned moment, Louisa rubbed at her eyes, trying to hold in the tears threatening her. Her father's hand caught her chin, drawing her to his eyes, shining and wet. She wrapped her arms tighter about him as her weeping came for the first time in...she could not remember how many years. In that moment, she no longer worried about the Baroness; she had her father once more!

Friedrich and Kurt stood just inside the door of his study, attempting to look dignified and disapproving of such a display of emotion, but Georg could spy a few tears in the younger boy's eyes, and Friedrich—his face had broken into a smile wider than any Georg remembered. Liesl leaned against the opposite side of the door frame, crying openly again, simply enjoying the love she finally saw in her father.

Yes, even the day before, he would have never seen this possibility. Drawing his daughters closer still, Georg whispered, "Thank you, God..." The rest he could not speak aloud, even while the tears stung his own eyes.

_...for sending her to us._


	20. A Decision

**Chapter 20: A Decision**

Maria wrung her hands to calm her nerves as she waited outside the door of the Reverend Mother's office. She had been about her chores, actually arriving on time—a surprise to Sister Catherine—and was sweeping away at the worn stones of the abbey floor when Sister Margaretta had arrived. She had leaned over to Sister Catherine, whispering something in her ear as she cast a curious eye to Maria, one she did not believe the postulant had caught. Maria lowered her gaze, trying to appear uninterested. "Maria," Sister Catherine had called a moment later.

"Yes?" Maria had asked, pausing in her work to lean on the broom, offering a puzzled face. _What have I done now?_ she had wondered.

"You will be accompanying Sister Margaretta to speak with the Reverend Mother now." Sister Catherine reached for the broom that Maria had suddenly clutched tighter. "I will finish this for you, my dear. Go on." With a nod to the other nun, Sister Catherine had joined the girls who had been feigning the same disinterest, and left Maria no choice but to follow the Mistress of Postulants.

The ambling along the corridors had been devoid of words, filled only with the clicking of their shoes upon the smooth, worn stones of the abbey floor. At the door of the Reverend Mother's office, Sister Margaretta had grasped Maria's hand for an instant, quietly saying, "Wait here a moment." The moment had lengthened into several minutes as Maria's stomach had tightened and she had taken to pacing. Whatever awaited her behind that door, she wanted to know it _now!_ Patience had never been her strong point.

Even for her, this must be a record number of times to take an audience with the Reverend Mother in the course of a week and a half. _Surprisingly, not my fault,_ Maria thought wryly, as though Sister Berthe was standing over her shoulder, chastising her as she waited for her drop to kiss the floor. But if the nun had been there, Maria knew her excuse would have certainly done her little good—Sister Berthe accepted no reasons.

She couldn't imagine what infraction of the rules she had committed in her two days back; even in those previous visits over the short time she had considered, she had not been called in to meet with the Reverend Mother for any form of penance. As she had struggled to request forgiveness in the first of those meetings, the Reverend Mother had gently chided her, saying, _"__Maria, I haven't summoned you here for apologies."_ But the path that meeting had led to—she wished she had been presented with any other punishment!

She so enjoyed her memories of the children—their bickering, their complaints, and the joy that had come from them, simply because they _were_ children. Yet if she let herself drift to that short time, she would find herself thinking on their father, then almost cursing herself for her dreaming. Indeed, this morning, she had been grateful for the amount of work Sister Catherine had presented the postulants.

"Maria," came the quiet voice of Sister Margaretta, always the one to escort postulants to the Reverend Mother, as she passed through the just opened door of the office. _Do I look that worried?_ Maria asked herself as the nun's face softened. "Please go in."

"What am I here for?" Maria asked, leaning in to speak the words quietly to the nun.

Sister Margaretta only shook her head, spreading her hands as Maria's eyes narrowed, incredulous. She tried to suspend her disbelief, for Sister Margaretta had been closeted with the Reverend Mother too long to know _nothing._

"I've no idea, Maria," she said as she stepped away from the door. Like the rest of the sisters, she loathed lying, yet she did so. It was the Reverend Mother's place to tell Maria. "But I'm sure you will discover the reason in the Lord's time." She smiled, and then was gone along the shadowy hall, invisible in her black habit and only noticeable by the rustling of fabric.

"Come in," the Reverend Mother's withered voice called from inside her office. Swallowing, Maria crossed over the threshold, pulling the door closed in her stead. In the late morning light that flooded the office, Maria could see every line across the old nun's face, and the weariness that filled her eyes. She had never thought of how old the Reverend Mother must be. She was simply the Reverend Mother, a position that, while a woman of age was expected to fill it, did not bely just how many years had passed upon her frame.

"My child?" the nun asked quietly, and Maria jerked from her thoughts.

"Forgive me, Mother," Maria said, walking forward, her stomach wrenching again with an unreasonable nervousness as she knelt to kiss the Reverend Mother's ring.

"Very well, Maria," she said, drawing back to offer Maria room to stand, "though I do not know why you ask for it. It is no sin to be distracted. But please, sit." Rounding her desk to her chair, she gestured to the one that sat before the desk. Clutching the edges of her habit to steady her fingers, Maria settled herself on to the wooden chair, watching the Reverend Mother as she sat carefully, resting her folded hands on the desktop.

"Maria," she continued, reaching for a folded slip of paper at her elbow, "I received an interesting letter an hour ago—concerning you."

"Me?" Maria said, leaning forward. She cast her mind about swiftly; had she done something she was unaware of? She could think of nothing. "What about?"

"Well," the Reverend Mother bit her lip to hide a small grin, "perhaps you should just read it yourself." She offered it to the postulant, who took and opened the letter with trembling fingers. It was a treasure to observe Maria's face, changing from worry to confusion.

"But—I don't understand," Maria said as she finished out the letter, dropping it to the desk before her shaking hands tore it in two. "He wishes me to return?"

"It appears so, my child." The old nun no longer tried to hide her smile at the apprehension on the girl's face. Her own heart had been lightened upon reading the Captain's words, for their had been a sadness over Maria in her time at the abbey once again, something that never should have come across so joyful a person. "It is your decision entirely, Maria, but I would advise you to return. You were there for so short a time, and as you have seen from this letter, the Von Trapp children miss you terribly."

Maria's eyes drifted over the carefully penned words. _The children miss her very dearly, and I would be forever in her debt if she would do my family the great honor of returning as my children's governess._

"I don't want to think about what his children did to him to force him to write this," Maria said after a moment had passed, allowing herself to smile a bit.

"What do you mean, dear?"

"It's the only way they know to catch their father's attention, Reverend Mother—playing awful tricks. It seems they wore out his will, perhaps with frogs and pine cones, perhaps with worse." Though the Reverend Mother held in a laugh at the image of just what might be done with such tools, Maria's eyes narrowed in an angry memory. "It's as though he can't even see what they need."

"Maria," the Reverend Mother began, no longer amused. She did not want to ever have to remind Maria about the words that were soon to follow. Sighing, Maria glanced up to the stern visage.

"Yes, I know, I should not pass judgment upon him, Mother. He has endured much in his life, his wife's death not the least of it all. But..." She pursed her lips in consideration. "You would have me return, Mother?"

"As I said before, Maria, it is your decision entirely, and whatever choice you make I shall support, but I believe that you should return, for the duration of the summer."

"I do miss the children," Maria said quietly, brushing the letter with her hand. "I would so much like to see them again." She choked down a cough: eight faces came to mind! _Eight?_

"Then I shall inform Sister Margaretta that you shall be leaving us again, until September. I would be correct in that assumption." There was no question in the words as that smile came upon the nun's face again, Maria saw, speaking of some knowledge the Reverend Mother would not share.

"Yes, Mother," Maria said, standing cautiously. She felt lightheaded suddenly, carefree as the realization passed over her again: she was going back! _Why am I so pleased? _she asked herself, clasping her hands only to feel sweaty palms. _I should not be so joyful at leaving the convent. I have pledged myself to joining the novitiate._

"Maria," the Reverend Mother said, drawing her out of her thoughts for the second time in the last few minutes. "Go and gather your things. I believe you will find the dresses you returned with are still in the robing room."

"Thank you, Mother." Maria smiled as she remembered Brigitta's remark about the dress she had arrived in.

"When you have packed, please come and see me one final time. There will be no need for Sister Margaretta to accompany you, child—I simply wish to bless you before you depart."

"I will." Offering the older woman a curtsy, Maria turned and tried to hold her feet at a slow pace as she made her way to the door. Slipping through and pulling it closed, her feet betrayed her, rushing her toward her small room. Passing the clusters of nuns, novices, and postulants, she did not try to contain her smile even as they offered her stranger expressions than usual; she hardly even saw them. An absurd giddiness rested upon her as she fair felt herself dancing in the corridor.

_She was going back!_

* * *

The Reverend Mother shook her head good-naturedly as she heard Maria's steps hasten just outside the door. How different a girl she was from the one who had sat in that same chair not two days prior! And the simple difference—that letter. Reaching across the desk to where it had fallen after Maria read it, the Reverend Mother let her own eyes find the words again. 

But there was something more in the change than Maria had said, more than a joy in seeing those seven children once again. It was a strange happiness written across her countenance, a strain lifted from her. Yes, there was something more, the same hidden concern that she had been unable to place as she questioned Maria about her return. The same joy that had once been in the girl as she worked within the abbey, it had covered her face as she knew she would be returning.

The more thought she gave to that strange expression, the more she believed herself to be correct: Maria's place was not in the abbey. She was too boisterous and exuberant, with too much love to share. The Reverend Mother could see the love in her eyes as she had understood that she would see those seven children once again, but something more had been at work there. Folding the letter and slipping it into a drawer of her desk, she put the thought from her mind.


	21. Shine on Me

**Chapter 21: Shine on Me**

"Good morning, Baroness," the old housekeeper's voice called as Elsa descended the stairs a few minutes after eleven. She had been wondering when Baroness Schräder would emerge; once nine had passed, Frau Schmidt had concluded the woman to be identical to Herr Detweiler in her habits, and had not expected to see her until about this time.

"Thank you, Frau Schmidt," Elsa said, searching for the woman's name. Lord, but she would have to improve her memory, if she had any chance of Georg introducing her to those involved in his life in Salzburg.

"I would offer to prepare you breakfast, but it will be time for the noon meal in less than an hour. I can bring you some coffee if you wish, though, Baroness."

"Oh, no," Elsa said as she reached the foyer, deigning to touch the woman's arm in a contrived, humble refusal. "I am perfectly content to wait for luncheon. I do have to watch my figure." Clad in a cream-colored, silk blouse and a earth-toned linen skirt that fell just below her knees, with her hair coiffed elegantly top her head, Elsa was an image of beauty. "And you did go out of your way last night, bringing me a dinner tray after, well..."

"It was no trouble," Frau Schmidt said, drawing back from the other woman. The children's trick on the Baroness had horrified her at the first instant, but she could not find any anger for them. Indeed, she had been more distraught at the tirade she had heard them receive, rather than at whatever prank they had committed. "I simply did as the Captain instructed me."

"Where is Georg?" Elsa said, holding her comment on the housekeeper's discomfort to herself. "He promised to take me farther out on the grounds this morning. We were interrupted my first day here, and yesterday..." She let her voice fade, the words no longer needing to be spoken. The entire house was silent, disturbed by neither words nor the chaos of seven children. She shuddered at the thought of caring for them all.

"He asked me to give you his apologies, Baroness," Frau Schmidt said cautiously, "but he will be unable to keep your engagement."

"Oh, now why is that?" Elsa asked, pouting as she did.

"He's spending the morning outside with his children, playing some sort of a game. They've already been at it for more than two hours, with no end in sight."

"Really." She tried to sound pleasant. This was the third occasion on which the children had spoiled her time with their father, this time perhaps unintentionally, but the third time nonetheless. "I would not have expected that from Georg."

"Well, Baroness," Frau Schmidt said, turning her head to glance towards the front door of the house, "if I may tell you the truth, I would not have expected it either, before this morning at any rate. But there is something in the Captain that has changed—I'm sure I don't know what, but it seems to be for the best."

"If that is the state of things," Elsa said, choosing her words delicately, "then I will take you up on your offer of a cup of coffee, if that will not be too much trouble?"

"Not at all, Baroness." Frau Schmidt nodded her head politely. "I will bring it to you in the dining room. Would that be acceptable?"

Elsa smiled. "Perfectly." It was true what the woman had said: here, Georg had become an entirely different person, one that she was not sure she knew. She would have to tread cautiously if she wished to realize her aim.

* * *

"How on earth did they get that flag up there?" Georg gasped as Gretl shifted in his arms another time, kicking him in one of his lungs as she thrust herself toward for the flag. 

"Louisa can get almost anywhere," Brigitta said quietly, peering around the gazebo. Gretl, Brigitta knew, had been brought along to simply be included, to feel important as small children always liked to. For her part, she was to act as a lookout. "She was always the one to...um..." She trailed off.

"What is it, Brigitta?" he asked, lifting Gretl higher, her arms too short to reach the fabric swatch perched atop the glass ceiling. "Is it something I should know?" She dropped her gaze, feigning interest in the dirndl dress that Fräulein Maria had made her from those drapes. There came that pain again in Georg's heart—whatever she feared to tell him, he _should_ have known, and would have known, had he been a father to his children. But he could begin now, by merely listening.

"You remember all the tricks we played on the governesses," she began in a small voice, picking her eyes up with a shameful expression. Climbing the trellis—she knew he would not approve of that, even less than many of the other things they had done over the course of the last four years.

He chuckled a bit, stopping as he felt Gretl quivering in his arms, reaching even farther for the cloth. "How could I forget? Although I will not pretend that what you did was right, I will admit that some of those I can recall were quite ingenious."

"Do you know how we got into the governess's room?" she asked, raising one of her eyebrows. Her father shook his head while he stood as tall as he could, lifting his youngest daughter even higher. Georg could hear her groaning as she extended her short arms to their full length, her fingers just grazing the the scarf set atop the highest point of the gazebo. She stretched again, and this time, her fingers caught the edge, pulling it back with her as she relaxed into her father's arms.

"Does this mean we've won?" she asked loudly, clutching the square of fabric as if it were gold while her father set her on the ground. _When did she become so heavy? _he asked himself as he rested his weight on his legs, needing a moment to catch his breath and rest his back.

"Not yet," Brigitta said, scowling at her sister for her noise. Gretl narrowed her eyes, used to this behavior from Louisa, but not Brigitta. The older girl's face softened, a trace of regret blossoming. "So be quiet, unless you want them to figure out that we're over here!"

Glancing to her father, Brigitta laughed, no longer worried about hiding. Looking down at his shirt—he had discarded his suit coat in his study—Georg indulged himself in that laughter as well: squarely planted upon his chest were Gretl's footprints. The little girl's face blanched, no longer seeing the man before her, but the father she remembered all her life.

"It's all right," he said, bending down to pick her up again, drawing a quick breath against the ache in his side as he hoisted her on to his hip. At that moment, Georg wanted nothing more than to set her down, but he would not.

She and Marta in particular among his children, it was with them he felt would have the most difficulty picking up the pieces of their relationship. Gretl certainly had no memories of the time before her mother died, and Marta's would be faint. But Gretl—she had suffered almost as much as Liesl, missing her father for the earliest part of her life. His other children had at least had him for those years. He was not certain if he could forgive himself for that, yet with his daughter settled tightly in his arms like a weight, he knew that she already had. Hugging her closer to him to drop a light kiss on her cheek, he asked, "Shall we go and make sure that Friedrich has not gotten himself captured by Louisa?"

"Yes!" Gretl said, smiling as she clasped her hands around her father's neck, enjoying the new sense of being so close to him. Rubbing his hand along her back, Georg beckoned Brigitta to follow as they ventured away from the safety of the gazebo's shadow.

The round of Capture the Flag had been running since Georg had managed to peel his daughters from him and pick himself off the floor of his study. "Do you know what," he had said, letting the warmth flooding his study from the large window along its outer wall overwhelm him, "I would say that this morning is entirely too nice to be spent inside on studies." The looks that had gone from one another among his children had been disbelieving, even confused. "Well," he had continued, eager to fill the silence, "I trust that you have not disposed of your—ah, what did your _fräulein_ call them—play clothes?"

That had been it. His children had scampered off to their rooms to change while he allowed himself to laugh once again, delighting in their simple enthusiasm. Feeling that if he was going to do the thing properly, he had left his coat lying on his chair, wondering just what his children would have in mind for the morning. Whatever it was, he was determined to enjoy it. For the present time, he could not bring his children to him; he would have to go to them.

After a few minutes, their thundering footsteps had echoed throughout the house again as they gained the foyer again, clad in those strange outfits their _fräulein_ had sewn them. All of them wore grins he suspected they had been proudly bearing as they had climbed those trees a few days previous.

His words to Elsa, naming his children _local urchins,_ had come to him again, but he shoved them aside. The past was the past, and he had only his future to look on with eagerness. Liesl had two squares of fabric, one a heavy brown shade, and the other a scrap from the drapes, nearly the same size as the kerchief that covered Louisa's hair.

"And what may I ask are _these_ for?" he asked, gesturing to what Liesl held, only for his daughter to smile coyly at him.

"For our game, of course," she had answered.

"What game would that be?"

"Capture the Flag, Father." He had stifled a laugh at that idea; it had been _decades_ since he had played that, but for his children...well, he felt he would do anything for them. "Please?" she had asked, her face forming an example of her mother's, an image that even the day before would have driven a stake through his heart. This day, though, Georg knew he could deny his children nothing; he hardly been able to pull himself away from them long enough to entrust Elsa's telegram to Frau Schmidt.

Once outside, they had divided into two teams, headed by himself and Liesl. The youngest girls had been assigned, and the others chose their teams for themselves. Kurt had grumbled at being on a team of all girls, but Georg had just smiled, and told the boy to consider himself lucky at being on a team whose members were all under the age of forty. Everyone had laughed at that. But as his complaining had died down their territories had been chosen, their flags hidden, their prisons given borders, and then the game had begun.

As they strayed into the shadow of the villa, Georg wondered just how long it would be until Louisa or Kurt caught sight of them sneaking back into their own territory. As far as winning the game, the three of them venturing together into the enemy's encampment—those were Brigitta's words—had not been wise, but it served Georg's purpose. He who had for so long been a shell of a man, he was now running about making a fool of himself with his children—and enjoying every moment of it. For an instant, as the three of them had begun to work their way towards the opposite team's territory, he had wondered if Friedrich was unhappy at being left behind, but a quick look back had dispelled that fear. He had seemed overjoyed at the prospect of imprisoning Louisa, whom he was already chasing.

Gretl's shifting in his arms drew him back to her and Brigitta, who was trotting along at his side to keep pace with his longer strides. Something was amiss, Georg could sense. Brigitta was quite talkative, always eager to share what she knew, even if her companion did not wish to learn. "What's wrong, Brigitta?" he asked, tightening his grip on Gretl with one hand, freeing his other to set on her shoulder. Her steps slowed as they walked beneath the shadow of the house.

Her face turned upwards, not to his but to the villa, drifting along the trellis from where it was anchored in the soil by the stem of the roses that climbed its height. Following her lead, Georg noticed its final crossbeam was a half meter below one of the window that opened from Maria's room— He blinked suddenly. _Maria's room?_ When had she changed from the governess, or Fräulein Maria, to _Maria?_

_Do you know how we got into the governess's room?_ His daughter's earlier question came to him again as his gaze ran the length of the wooden structure, drawing out a shuddering realization. "Did you climb the trellis to get into her room?" he asked, the words harsher than he had intended. Brigitta's countenance was terrified as she turned to him, nodding gently.

"Have you any idea how dangerous that was?" he said, disapproving, but incapable of much anger. "If you had fallen..." It was a good ten to fifteen meters from the window to the flower bed, and he shivered at only imagining what might have been. He drew her close to him, embracing her as well as he could while he still clutched Gretl.

"It was Louisa, mostly," Brigitta said, wrapping her arms around her father, pressing her face into his chest, and just enjoying being so close to him. "She could climb it almost one-handed."

"Why one-handed?" asked Georg, grinning at his daughter as she pulled away from him while they began to walk again.

"How else could she hold the jar of spiders she was going to put in the governess's bed?"

He didn't even try to suppress his laughter at that. "Just promise me, Brigitta," he said as his chuckles died, turning her face up to his, "that you will never do it again. It really was a dangerous thing to do."

"Don't worry, I won't ever climb it," she said earnestly. "_I_ never did. I don't like heights." Had he known she disliked heights? He didn't think he had. "It was usually Louisa, sometimes Liesl."

"Ah," he sighed, another memory rising into his awareness. "And would that be how Liesl managed to get inside the night of that storm, before I left?"

"I don't know," she answered, her eyes eyes wide. "Maybe. I think she was in Fräulein Maria's room before the rest of us."

"_I_ never saw her come in," Gretl said, eager to be a part of the conversation again. "And _I_ was the first one there." Brigitta smiled at her, remembering how the little girl's words had echoed out into the hall, just as they had rushed in, anything but proud in their fear. A new thought occurred to Brigitta, one that sent the smile from her mouth.

"Father," she said quietly, letting her gaze drop, pretending to examine the path they were taking, "will we be having a new governess?"

Georg had been wondering all morning just who would be the first to ask him that question he dreaded, and the question he could not answer as yet. He had been almost surprised that it had not been Liesl, but neither was he shocked that it should be Brigitta to voice what all the children wanted—no, _needed_ to know. He just rubbed her shoulder as he considered his words. "Yes, Brigitta, you will be having a new governess. Until school begins again in September."

"Who will she be?" the girl asked, and Georg had to sigh. He had hoped she would not ask him that.

"I'm not sure," he said after a moment, wincing at the half lie. "I hope to be more certain sometime later today." He felt his daughter stiffen under his hand, and he knew that she had seen him cringe. Once again, her _fräulein_ had been proven correct: she _did_ notice everything.

"There they are!" a high-pitched voice shouted from the direction they had just come. Georg and Brigitta turned in surprise, catching a glimpse of Louisa and Marta starting into a run after them. Grabbing for his daughter's hand, Georg attempted a getaway.

He knew Gretl was too heavy in his arms, though, and his strength was not what it had been years before, but the possibility was simply too amusing to pass up. He could hear them drawing nearer, rushing behind him in the grass, a few whispered threats that he would not escape them filling in spaces between their gasps for air. In a matter of seconds, the two girls had caught up to them and declared them captured.

"Never!" he answered, whipping around to one side, eliciting a squeal from Gretl as she clung to him even tighter. "Captain von Trapp will not surrender!" Louisa had already tagged Brigitta, and now with a triumphant gleam in her eye, wrapped her hands around her father's arm to one of his sighs.

"You were saying?" she asked, leaning in to embrace him quickly, a gesture he had not expected from her.

"Oh, all right," Georg said, setting Gretl on the grass before he collapsed next to her, "we are prisoners." He raised his hands in defeat as Marta hugged his neck. Eyeing Brigitta mischievously, he winked, and added, "I guess we're dependent on Friedrich to win us this little war!"

"I wouldn't count on him," Louisa said, smiling. "He's currently a prisoner as well, being guarded marvelously by Liesl and Kurt! And I think it's about time you all joined him! Up!" She jerked her hands upwards in a command that Brigitta and Gretl followed with ease. "Come on, Father."

"Give an old man some time to rest," he pleaded, running a hand through his mussed hair without a thought as he felt his heart slow. He really was too old to be engaging in such games, but with his children surrounding him, dirty and sweaty, he could not care. Reaching to take the green-flowered scrap from Gretl's hand, Louisa scowled at him, from more habit than will.

"You can rest in prison," his daughter said, "and after we win!" Shaking his head at her excitement, Georg struggled to his feet, his hands going to his lower back as he straightened. The pain would be even worse the next day, he remembered that from the Navy.

Feeling his children's eyes on him, he waved them onward. "Please lead the way, Warden," he said, receiving a giggle from Marta. She threaded her hand into his, her small, cold fingers lost in his larger grasp. Turning to Gretl, Georg offered her his other hand, which she took happily, letting her arm swing back and forth with his stride as they followed Louisa and Brigitta to their imprisonment.

* * *

"_There_ you are!" Liesl said, pushing herself up from the grass where she sat beside Kurt and Friedrich as her sisters and father came into her vision from around the house. "We were about to decide which one of us would have to go look for you!" It was a welcome sight, to see her father holding the hands of her youngest sisters, smiling at the other two as they bickered quietly, as was their wont. _Or at least Louisa's,_ she thought. 

"You don't really mean that," Louisa said, beckoning the rest of them to sit in between the two trees that served as her team's prison. "You need at least two people to guard Friedrich." Her brother wrinkled his nose as he sat cross-legged in the shade of one of the trees. "It's a pity you were captured, though, Friedrich," she went on. "You might have won—they found our flag."

"I see that's more than you did," he answered, glowering at Kurt, whom he seemed to regard as some sort of traitor to his gender. "It seems _ours_ is still hidden!"

"It doesn't matters now," Kurt said, standing as well to brush himself free from grass clippings.

" 'All's fair in love in love and war,' " Liesl quoted as her father, Gretl, and Brigitta dropped to sit beside Friedrich. "And overall, I think we've won. So Father—" Her words were stopped by a grin on her lips, and in that moment, she was an image of her mothers. Though it stung him to recall it, there was pleasure in the burn.

"What?" he asked, raising one of his eyebrows in inquiry.

"What happened to your shirt?" she asked, and his eyes fell to the soiled garment, and the twin footprints marked plainly on the once pristine cloth.

"Gretl's shoes," he answered, leaning back heavily on his hands

"Oh," she said, not certain what to make of that. "So, will you surrender?"

"You missed that speech," Louisa began, handing the flowered square of fabric to her sister, but Georg raised his hand to silence her.

"I am perfectly amenable to surrender," he said, lifting Gretl to set her in his lap, "provided I can extract one promise from you: never climb the trellis again." Louisa's eyes widened, but she bit a giggle.

"Well, I wasn't even the last person to climb it," she said, dropping her gaze before it drifted to Liesl. "Anyway, there was no need, I mean we didn't play any tricks on Fräulein Maria after the pine cone—"

"Louisa," he said gently, beginning to feel his stomach grumble with hunger, as he had missed breakfast and neglected dinner the night before, "don't avoid what I'm asking you. I understand you are the one with the most skill at climbing it."

Turning her face up to sigh dramatically, she nodded. "If you insist." It was quite different from what she had expected to see from her father if he had learned of her forays into the governess's room. _But he's hardly the same man anymore,_ she thought. _The Baroness probably doesn't even recognize him._

"I do," he agreed, drawing her from her thoughts. "And therefore, you have our surrender." Brigitta pouted as he spoke, but she leaned against her father, her disappointment at defeat slipping away as she allowed herself to be lost in the sensation of being so near him. She straightened a bit as she felt him stiffen. "So long," he continued, "as our surrender will not result in the breaking of and secession of part of our family?"

The older children frowned at their father's memory, various history lessons of the breaking of the dual monarchy and the disgrace of Austria rising in their memories. But the moment passed, and Georg smiled again. "Ah, but I forget that you are young, and that you did not have to endure that time."

"Captain?" Frau Schmidt's voice came on the slight breeze that had begun to shift through the garden, and it pulled him from his rumination.

"Yes, Frau Schmidt?" he answered, setting Gretl on the grass before he stood to turn to address her properly.

"Lunch is ready." Though many of the details of his figure were hidden by the shade of the tree in which he stood, the housekeeper could discern the Captain had somewhere left his suit coat, to the detriment of his shirt.

"Ah, thank you," he said, waving for her to return to the house. "Well, then," he continued, settling his attention on his children once more, "I trust you are all hungry after all these hours running around?"

"Of course!" Kurt exclaimed, smiling at the prospect of food.

"But you're always hungry," Friedrich said, climbing to his feet still bearing an irritated look for his brother.

"That doesn't mean I can't look forward to lunch!"

"But it doesn't have to do with you doing anything for the past few hours."

"All right, all right," Georg said, immediately wishing his voice had not been so harsh. During those four years, he had grown so accustomed to commanding once again. "Let's just get ourselves in there with as little argument as possible, hopefully before the meal we've been prepared turns cold." Brigitta and Gretl worked their way to stand at the thought of of food, and Marta ran forward to put her hand in her father's again, just as she had as she begged him not to dismiss her _fräulein_. It was only two days previous, but it seemed to him a lifetime. "Friedrich," he said, "could you go and retrieve our flag, before we abandon it to the outdoors?"

"Yes, Father," Friedrich said, eager to be up and about after near a half hour of sitting and twiddling his thumbs while waiting for his team to find him. But it had been so pleasant to spend time with his father without worrying about the next reprimand; as he made his way to the tree that had camouflaged the small scrap of brown fabric they had used for their flag, he let himself forget about the responsibilities that so often clouded his mind, and simply enjoyed the wind on his face.

Watching his eldest son run with a speed he could not remember in the boy, feeling his daughter's tiny fingers in his own, Georg could not believe what he had done. _An absolute ass, Georg,_ he thought, _that is what you are, to have done what you did. You shut out those who needed you the most, and you would have kept them out, if not for Maria._ There it was again, she had been Maria, rather than their _fräulein_, or Fräulein Maria.

Their faces the night before, the need he had seen upon them at last—he hoped, as he never had before, that their need would be filled. She had been the sun in their lives, had given them what he could not, and Georg knew he could never fill the void her absence left within them. As Marta tugged on his hand, and his feet carried him forward, a silent prayer he had not spoken in the years since Agathe's death filled his heart. _Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done...

* * *

_

It was strange, Elsa decided, to see Georg so entranced by his children—a baron, impeccably clad in his suit, reminiscing excitedly with seven children in dirt streaked clothes about some sort of game that had lasted nearly two and a half hours. The same ones he had been so angry upon seeing them wear her first day in his home. This was not the same man she knew from Vienna.

The housekeeper, Frau Schmidt, she reminded herself, had been right in her opinion that something within him had changed. The day before, lunch had been taken in utter silence—she doubted, though, that had the same chatter that filled the air this day been permitted, the children would still have been quiet, waiting for their traps to spring.

They hardly glanced her way, and only Liesl—she could now assign each one a name, for Georg had at last introduced them to her at lunch's beginning the previous day—had greeted her, the others too busy with their father. Yet even the eldest child had been swept away in the flow of the words from her brothers and sisters and father.

Georg turned her way every now and then, wearing an expression that was both one of apology and one that had no such intentions. She could excuse him for the distraction of his children, one he seemed joyfully embracing as though a parched man reaching for water, but something else was written in his eyes. Even when he paused in his conversation with his children to speak with her, his mind was not truly with her. Perhaps...

Rarely had Elsa wished for Max Detweiler to be around, his thoughtless comments filling the air, but this was one of those times. And of all days, he was caught in town on business, auditioning a musical group for the Salzburg Folk Festival. There was no one to distract _her_ from her thoughts.

The day he had dismissed the governess, that was when this new man had begun to emerge. Oh, it had been a slow process, his hard façade peeling away along with each layer of pain that his children ripped from the wound that had formed on his wife's death, but it had begun just before those children and their governess had fallen into the lake. She knew he would deny it if she confronted him with it, but even as that boat had tilted from side to side, his children throwing their arms about wildly, searching for their balance, a smile had fought to gain his cool, expressionless face.

And it had nearly won, for his lips had been turning upwards when he seized control once more. Elsa shook herself as she focused on the _Gröst'l_ and _Kartoffelkn__ödel_ that she had set on her plate, picking at the sautéed fish with feigned interest. She needn't worry about that girl...who had nearly been able to do what she could not. _Bring a smile to Georg's face._

Liesl gazed at the Baroness from across the table, not certain what she should make of her. Until this morning, it had been she and her siblings who had been intruding on her father and this woman. Now, the circumstances had been reversed, and it was the Baroness who did not fit the life that was passing at the villa. She did not _want_ to dislike the Baroness, yet she did not believe that she could do anything else. Even in the little time Liesl had spent with the woman, she knew her to be cold, anything but the epitome of a mother. _There's no other reason that Father would bring her to visit, unless he is considering marrying her._ The idea was not pleasant.

Heavy footsteps broke into the expansive conversation, drawing Liesl's eyes to the butler who had just entered. He leaned over to her father and whispered something in his ear, and as the words she could not hear came, an expression that she could not read crossed his face, pulling a wider smile across his already pleased face. _Some sort of news? _she asked herself. _Another telegram?_ Hope buoyed itself up in her stomach, but..._No,_ she thought. _Franz would have simply brought in a telegram._

"Good," her father said, and she jerked at his voice while the voices of her siblings died at last. "Please, show her in." That excitement that had grown within her sank; as they had walked into the house for lunch, she had taken a moment to brush some dirt from Brigitta's collar, and, puzzled by her unusual silence, had asked what was wrong. And now...this could only be the new governess that she had spoken of.

"Yes, Captain," Franz answered, walking back into the foyer. "Please come in." Lighter feet wearing shoes muted on the wooden floor followed in his stead. Liesl turned her face to her _Lesco_, shoveling in a mouthful of the green peppers and onions, trying not to think about the new governess as the garlic burst on her tongue. In that moment, she was glad for the onions on her plate and the scent that rose from them—it presented a reason for her eyes to water.


	22. Strange Happenings

**Chapter 22: Strange Happenings**

"Fräulein Maria!" Gretl shouted as the young woman stepped into the dining room. Liesl's face came up, not believing what she had dared to hope might one day come to be. The tears that had brimmed in her eyes spilled over as their young governess stepped back from the sudden force of Marta embracing her. Glancing across the table to Brigitta, she smiled at the unshed tears that still threatened her younger sister's face.

None of the children held their chairs for very long, as they jumped to their feet, racing across the room to bury their governess in their arms as though afraid that to let her go would be to lose her again. From his seat, Georg could hardly make out anything more of the woman than her hair, gleaming in the light of the room. All the rest of her was hidden beneath his children.

Liesl was one of those nearest to the young woman, clutching her as she had never held another person in her life. Even her mother she had never clung to so desperately, she realized as her face wet Maria's shoulder. "Don't cry, Liesl," the girl heard in her ear as Maria pulled her closer. "There's no reason to cry, any of you." But every face that Maria could see had eyes glistening with the same drops that were welling in her own.

Elsa could feel her lips twitching into a frown at the joy that filled each of the children. Clearly, they loved this young woman, and from the happiness on her face as she drew the youngest girls into another embrace, that love was more than returned in kind. Yet it was the children that still drew her attention.

It was the same joy that had filled the conversation they had indulged in with their father over the seemingly forgotten lunch—the joy that only a carefree love offered. She had to bite her sigh—they loved that young woman as much as they did their father, and with that care, they would mold her into what they wished. The mother they no longer had.

Georg could not be bothered with hiding the smile that wished to cross his face as the pleasure of simply seeing his children so happy filled his heart. How had he not seen the pain that they would endure without their governess? How had he ignored it?

_I cannot force them to be adults,_ he thought. _They shall come to that of their own accord, in their own good time. They must have time to be children, time to play and learn the things that children do. Even Liesl, and Friedrich..._He let his thoughts fall silent before he drifted to the memories of his past, and began to curse himself again.

"We missed you!" Brigitta was saying, folding herself in Maria's grasp.

"I missed you just as much, darling," she whispered into the girl's dark hair, kissing the crown of her head. "I love the abbey, but it wasn't the same as trying to keep the seven of you in line!" The children exchanged quiet grins at that, and Georg had to chuckle.

"Nothing was the same without you," Louisa added, standing back a bit from the huddle of bodies. As much as she had missed Fräulein Maria, she was heartily sick of hugs today. Her need had been satisfied by the crushing squeeze they had delivered her almost the moment she entered the dining room.

"I can see," Maria said, smiling at every child. "Though"—the expression grew broader as she finally saw the dirt smeared on every child's clothing—"perhaps not all for the worst?" Ruffling Kurt's hair, her eyes drifted upwards, settling on the Captain at last. Her breath caught in her throat at his face, the lightheartedness there. This was not the same man she had shouted at two days before, the man who had valued his pride more than his children.

He had never noticed the gentleness that enveloped her face, nor the sparkling in her eyes. Her face was one that would always speak her emotions and thoughts, no matter how she tried to conceal them, and he wondered that he had never before seen the beauty that exuded from her. She was pretty, to be certain, but her beauty had sprung from something within her. Georg shook himself quietly, blinking before she saw him simply staring at her.

"Come along, children," he said, "let it sit any longer and this wonderful lunch that Frau Schmidt has spearheaded shall be gone completely to waste." The older children were willing to take their seats again, but the three youngest still clung to Maria.

"Go on, darlings," she whispered, leaning down to pull them all into her arms. "Listen to your father." Gretl tarried long enough to hug her governess, her cheek receiving a kiss in return, but slowly, all the children began the return to their chairs.

As they settled themselves into their seats once more, taking up their discarded silverware from the table and their napkins from the floor, Georg dropped his own napkin on the table. "Fräulein," he said quietly, pushing his chair back, "may I speak to you privately?" Liesl's face came up, confusion in her eyes. "Just for a moment."

"Of course, Captain," Maria said, smiling at the girl reassuringly, for herself as much as Liesl.

"Thank you," he said gently, gesturing for her to step into the foyer and following in her stead. Her head was bowed as she turned to face him, her hands clutched atop her stomach, as though she had forgotten that she no longer wore her habit.

He fought the urge to pace as began. "Fräulein, concerning the other day..."

"Please, Captain," she said, her face coming up as his words trailed. Her eyes were a shining blue, even through the redness that her tears had brought. "I really should have been more tactful—"

"No, Fräulein, you were right, in everything. My pride set off my anger when it should have been stayed, simply because my children were not as I expected them to be. I...behaved badly," he said, trying to form his sentences correctly, searching for the proper words, the words to convey his true contrition, "when I dismissed you. I acted in anger, rather than in concern for my children's wellbeing. For that, I cannot ask their forgiveness, and neither can I ask for yours." He was not accustomed to apologizing, but now, he knew there was no other choice—yet he would not have it any other way, except perhaps to undo the past. "However, I do apologize."

Maria shook her head vehemently, smiling a bit. "No, Captain, it is I who should ask your forgiveness. I'm—I'm far too outspoken, it's one of my worst faults. Of course, Sister Berthe would say that I have nothing to compare my faults against, but—" She stopped quickly, not able to believe what she had just said. What did the Captain care about Sister Berthe's opinion of her character? She herself hardly gave it a thought!

"You were right," Georg continued, licking his teeth nervously as he cursed himself, still so very angry that this confession was necessary, that _he_ had made it so. "I don't...know my children."

"There's still time, Captain. They want so much to be close to you." She smiled as her eyes drifted toward the dining room, where despite the pretext of eating, she could see four pairs of eyes peering out the door, and she suspected that the other three blocked by the wall did the same. "Though, I suspect you have discovered that for yourself."

"Very much so," he said, chuckling lowly as he glanced over his shoulder, offering the curious children a wave of his hand and a wink. But as he turned to Maria once again, his face was serious. "You brought...music back into the house? Laughter? I'd forgotten." _I had forgotten how much it truly meant to me,_ he finished in his mind, drifting back to the new memories of his children singing, their voices so clear, the sound of them laughing as Louisa had chased him, catching him with ease that morning. _How much a part of me it is._

They were wonderful, and it was only due to her willingness to be equal to his stubbornness that he could now see that.

Maria realized her hands had begun to tremble as his eyes bored into her own, and she felt as though he could see through her body to her soul. Her feet drew her back without a thought, but he stepped nearer her, holding the distance between them constant. _Why are you so near? _she asked herself, her heart pounding with a new worry that her face would betray what she feared now coursed through her veins as easily as her blood.

"Fräulein...Maria," Georg said quietly, her name added because he could not leave it unspoken. She deserved more than to be addressed as _what_ she was; yes, she deserved an address as _who_ she was.

"Yes, Captain?" she said, her voice filled with air. He was so close, hardly half a meter between them. She felt so warm and so strange at once, and her stomach began to tighten for a reason she did not understand.

"I thank you, Fräulein, for coming back." He swallowed harshly. "You knew what they needed more than I did. I am forever in your debt."

"All you had to do was look, Captain," she whispered, her voice failing her. "They were always there, waiting for you."

"But I did not know how to." His visage was marred by a deep pain, a wound that had cut him so deeply, Maria almost gasped.

_Is she—shaking?_ Georg asked himself, and as his eyes traveled up and down this young woman, he was certain she was. Even folded together, her hands quivered. _Is she frightened?_ No, Maria was not a girl that would easily be scared— There it was again, the loss of 'Fräulein' before her name. He blinked strongly before continuing.

"Just, once more, Fräulein, let me thank you for coming back, after all that I did..."

"It was my pleasure, Captain," she said, her words stronger than before.

Silence fell between them, but it was neither the empty escape of the house before Maria's presence nor the companionable quiet that often serves between friends; it was filled with an uncomfortable tension as neither knew what to say next. Maria fidgeted, searching for something to say, feeling the Captain's eyes still resting heavily upon her.

"You must be hungry," Georg said at last, holding closely the cringe at the manner in which the words left his mouth. "The children insisted your chair be left in its place, though I don't believe they've left a pine cone on it this time." Her eyes jerked up to his. "Although I will compliment you on just how you handled yourself, Fräulein—most of their governesses simply snapped at them."

"They did that often?" she asked, smiling in spite of herself.

"All the time," he said, gesturing for her to return to the dining room. "Another one of their standard jokes, rather like the precious gift you mentioned."

"Frau Schmidt had told me that much, Captain," Maria said as she stepped into the room, seven faces turning seven pairs of eyes back to their hardly touched plates, "and that I was lucky to be blessed only with a frog."

"Oh, quite," Georg said, taking his place at the head of the table as Maria traveled to the chair that always served for the governess. She settled herself quietly, pursing her lips in a smile at the memory of her first dinner in the house, jumping up from the sharp point of a pine cone. Glancing down, she saw that a place had already been set for her, as though he had hoped she would return. _Or known..._Maria's eyes turned up and her cheeks flushed as she saw he had not removed his gaze from her. Allowing them to drift to the Baroness, she dropped her face to her plate, her heart thumping oddly at the expression on the other woman's countenance.

"Will you ever leave us again, Fräulein Maria?" Marta asked suddenly, drawing her _fräulein's_ eyes after a moment.

"Marta," her father said, a gentle reprimand in his tone. "Let Fräulein Maria eat her lunch. She can hardly be expected to digest when she has to worry about answering a hundred questions."

"It's nothing, Captain," Maria said, smiling at the young child. "I'm afraid, Marta, that once September has come, you'll no longer have a need for a governess. You will all be in school again, even you, Gretl, so then, yes, I will be returning to the abbey. But I will be here until then."

"Will she, Father?" Brigitta asked, pulling Georg's attention from Maria, allowing the young woman breathe easier. "You won't send her away until then?"

"Don't worry," he assured them with a smile, "I think I've learned my lesson where your _fräulein_ is concerned. I'm not sure I could survive another bout of your anger!"

"Good," Gretl said as she chewed away on a mouthful of _Kartoffelknödel,_ "I don't _ever_ want Fräulein Maria to leave!"

"Don't talk with food in your mouth, dear," Maria said as the little girl swallowed, taking her napkin to wipe away the crumbs that had fallen from the small mouth. "It's not polite."

"They haven't been too worried about politeness over the past few days, Fräulein," Georg said, taking a sip of wine from his glass. "But with that in mind, perhaps after you've settled back into your room, Fräulein, you might help the children clean the library."

"What happened to it?" she asked, at last reaching to spoon some of the fish and potatoes on to her own plate, sensing the sudden rumbling in her belly. Her breakfast of porridge and water at the abbey seemed ages ago.

"It fell victim to my children's schemes."

"Really?" Her eyebrows went up at while she peered at Brigitta, taking her first forkful of the _Fischgröst'l._ "What happened?"

"It's quite disorganized at the moment. Fortunately, there was no true damage done to it, just enough to aggravate any person searching for a certain book." Digging his fork into his potatoes, Georg smiled at the memory of the night before.

Maria laughed around her mouthful of the sautéed fish. "I'm surprised you allowed that Brigitta. You don't even bend back the corners of your pages."

"Well, it was better than the alternative," the girl said stiffly, the memory of Friedrich's suggestion still enough to draw a shudder, more so when she recalled Louisa's easy agreement.

"And what was that?" Georg asked, curious as to what his books had escaped.

"Gluing the pages shut." The entire table burst into laughter around her while Elsa wrinkled her nose at the cacophony. No, she decided, she did not recognize Georg, this man who was sharing such easy laughter with his children and this governess. In Vienna, she had needed to coax even smiles from him, and his rare mirth was expressed in short, curt chuckles.

"It was probably good that you decided against that," Maria was saying, trying not to imagine the Captain attempting to pry apart the pages of a book that refused to open.

"Yes," Georg said, setting his fork and knife to the sides of his plate, finished with his own meal. "There was enough trouble caused in these few days. And Louisa, I think I will leave _you_ the task of cleaning out the drawer in my desk." The girl's face flushed immediately, and she busied herself with her fish while Brigitta held in a snort of laughter.

Maria followed her example, chewing the meat carefully. It was so pleasant to be around this table with the children once more, as she had every morning, afternoon, and evening of that wonderful week she was now permitted to live again. Yet with the Captain drawn from his isolation, his anger, it seemed to Maria that she could ask for nothing beyond this, to be seated near those nearer her heart than any others on the earth. Her soul had counted them all before she could constrain their number.

* * *

"...Fielding, Fielding." Maria muttered the name under her breath as she brushed a strand of her short hair behind her ear. She had declined the Captain's offer of time for her to deal with her things and her room, electing instead to begin on the immense task set to them immediately. Over the course of three hours, much of the library had been returned to organization after undergoing another thorough demolition, and now she and the children were down to the final piles. "So that would be after Field. Marta..." The girl came running at her name. 

"Yes, Fräulein Maria?" she asked, her face breaking into a wide grin. After two days without their governess, every one of the children was eager to do anything for her, and happy to simply be able to say her name.

"Do you remember where the book of poems by Field was?" The little girl nodded, her braids bouncing beside her ears. Maria smiled. "Go put these two right after it." She handed the tomes to Marta, who immediately went off to the shelf, stretching up on her toes to slide the books into their places. Kneeling on the lightly carpeted floor, Maria reached for another volume, trying not feel the tingling in her lower legs.

It had not been hard work, only rote and tiresome, and her mind had grown numb with the organization. The library was composed of more books than she had ever seen in her entire life, most in German, but a substantial number were foreign, still in their original languages: English, French, Latin, even a few volumes in Greek. _Aeschylus, Austen, Balzac, Brontë, Chaucer..._She had smiled as she handed Jane Eyre to Brigitta to shelve, wondering just why on earth any person would set an umlaut on 'e.' It was nonsensical, but then, so was much of the English language itself.

Perhaps the greatest difficulty, though, had been persuading Brigitta that she need not examine every book of poetry that was returned to the shelves, but that she only needed to shelve it, or hand it to one of her brothers if she could not reach. The girl had of late spent most her time buried in books of poems, and Maria wondered at her enjoyment of the flowing words.

_...Dante, Dickens, Dostoyevsky, Doyle, Goethe, Hawthorne..._Brigitta's eyes had lingered on that name as well, remembering the latest of his works that she had read. "Brigitta," Maria had said, pulling her from the memory to set it down_...Heine, Hesse, Homer, Hugo, Kipling_...

Louisa had for a time been absent, good-naturedly ordered by her father to clean out a drawer of his desk. The others had shared a hearty laugh once she was gone, trying to catch their breath, Friedrich doing so just long enough to tell Maria of the jar of beetles the girl had dumped into the drawer. If anything, they had laughed harder when she returned, her face twisted unhappily, as though disgusted by what she had seen_...Longfellow, Melville, Poe, Schiller, Shakespeare, Shaw, Sophocles, Stevenson..._

Taking a final look at her pile, Maria breathed easier: only two. "Well," she said, struggling to her feet as she clutched those last two books, "it appears we are almost finished." Her head spun as her blood drained, and her knees burned from being so long pressed into the carpet.

"Are you all right, Fräulein?" Liesl asked, looking back from the shelf where she was switching a book or two that Gretl had replaced incorrectly.

"Yes, Liesl," Maria said, her vision clearing. "I stood up a bit quickly, that's all." Glancing at the first title, her eyes narrowed. The Origin of Species, by Charles Darwin. She was almost surprised to see a copy of such a book in the Captain's library, but he was a well-read man, and willing to consider different ideas. Walking to the shelves that seemed to hold the D's, she glanced at the names. "Dante...Dickins. Ah." Slipping the final book under her arm, she began to pry the two volumes apart. She found enough room to wedge the tome in and slid it between the two, quickly pulling her fingers back before the books snapped together.

"At last!" she said, raising her arms in triumph, forgetting the book she had tucked beneath one. She sighed as it thumped on the carpet. Though she bent down to retrieve it, Brigitta's hands were there first, sliding it into her own grasp.

"Oh, this is lovely!" she whispered as her eyes caught the title. "In Flanders Fields and Other Poems!"

"One were hardly notice that you like poetry, 'Gitta," Louisa said from where she leaned against the desk, still grumpy from her escapade cleaning the beetles from her father's desk in his study. "What with all your squealing with delight at every book of poems that you see."

"Just because _you_ don't like them," Brigitta began, scrunching her nose angrily, but Maria stepped between the two sisters.

"Have you read this before, Brigitta?" Maria asked, offering Louisa a glance that she expected her to be quiet as she slipped her arm around the younger girl's shoulder.

"Oh, yes, it's wonderful, Fräulein Maria!" Brigitta tensed beneath her governess's arm, then drew away and turned, her eyes wide. "Would you read us one, please?"

"What?" Maria asked as the girl proffered the book with outstretched arms. "Oh, no, Brigitta, we're almost finished here, and then we could take some time outside—"

"Please, Fräulein," Liesl chimed in, taking Gretl's hand to pull her over to the group of children that was gathering around Maria. "Your voice is so pretty." They were all settling themselves to the carpet around her, as Brigitta still stood, the book offered to her _fräulein._ From the faces she saw, Maria knew she would not escape the circle. Shaking her head, she took the book, elation crossing the Brigitta's face as she sat herself by Marta, who was leaning against Louisa's side.

"Since I'm surrounded," she said with a laugh as she dropped to sit beside the children, her fingers sliding beneath the heavy cover of the book. "Do you have one you would recommend, Brigitta?"

"Oh, yes, Fräulein Maria! Read the first one. It's ever so beautiful."

"The first one? But there are so many others to choose from," Maria said, flipping through the first few pages.

"I know, Fräulein Maria, but it really is lovely. Please?" Maria smiled at her plea.

"If it will make you happy..." She turned a few more pages, until the first poem graced a page, finely printed in English. "Oh, you'll have to allow me some error in this, children," Maria said reading through the words quickly. She knew them all, and quickly worked a translation into German. "I do hope it comes across with the same power." Lowering the book a bit so that those closest to her could see the words, she began to read.

_" 'In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below...' "

* * *

_

"You know, Georg," Elsa said quietly, dropping her hand on to his arm, "your children really can be quite charming, when they're not set on mischief."

"At times, yes," he said, at the moment enjoying teasing Elsa as much as he did Max.

"Oh, don't be so harsh on them. They are darlings." She slapped his arm playfully.

"I would hardly expect that to be coming from you, my dear, after what you endured at their hands."

"Had you not dismissed their governess, Georg, I doubt any of it would have happened." She paused, biting her tongue to devise just what she might say, to consider just how to conceal what she had seen. "They do seem to love her, my dear."

"Hmm?" His eye drifted to her as he realized he had not heard a thing she had said. No, his ears had been picking out the sounds of a sweet voice from the library, reading a poem to his children. It was in English, but she had translated to German quite well for the benefit of the younger children. Liesl, Friedrich, and Louisa already spoke English skillfully, and Brigitta's knowledge of it was far beyond her years because of all the reading she had done since she was four. Kurt had just begun to learn, and Marta and Gretl still had time before they would be required to begin. But he had not known that this young lady spoke the language, nor that she knew it so well to translate those words. A vague thought of wonderment crossed his mind. _Where did she learn it?_

_" '...We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow...' "_ Her voice was so clear, powerful in its gentleness.

Two days before, he would certainly have dismissed her simply for reading that poem to his children, the words of a Canadian officer, dead in the Great War! Words penned by a man that, had they faced one another on a field of combat or on opposing ships on the high sea, he would channeled every portion of his strength to killing.

"Darling?" Elsa's voice tugged him towards her again. So very many things he would have done but two days previous, and now every one of them he knew to be the work of a weak man. "Georg?"

"Yes?" he said a few moments later, forcing himself to turn to her. In his reverie, his gaze had moved to the wall, seeing nothing in particular, only what was fixed in his mind: a lovely face set with bright blue eyes, surrounded by short blond hair struck with the slightest bit of red, and with that face, a voice speaking softly to his children.

_" '...were loved, and now we lie In Flanders field. Take up our quarrel with the foe...' "_

"What are you thinking about?" Elsa asked, tapping her fingers on his arm, reminding him of her presence.

"You," he said, the lie flowing from his tongue easily. In his own way, he was. He told himself again and again the reason he had brought Elsa to his home: he wished to see her interact with his children, to see if they could accept her as a mother. Just yesterday, he had been almost certain in his idea to marry her, but today? Doubts filled him as they never had before, even in the war, when in his hands lay the lives of every man on his ship. Even then, he had been more certain of himself.

_" '...If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep...' "_ No, he could no longer have the certainty of what he wanted.

_" '...though poppies grow in Flanders fields.' "_

"Oh, Fräulein," Liesl whispered, clutching a wide-eyed Gretl in her lap, "that was beautiful, even if it was translated. And your voice made it ever more lovely!"

Maria blushed at the complement. "Thank you, Liesl," she said as she closed the book, offering it Brigitta; the girl's eyes sparked as she claimed it. "But I am sure it would have been just as lovely if any one of you had read it. Or even if you had all read it silently. Literature need not be spoken aloud to be beautiful."

"But it _was_ nice to hear you read it, Fräulein Maria," Marta said from where she was, leaning against Louisa, the girl for once not pushing her sibling away. Scrambling up to be near her governess, Marta hugged the woman again. "We missed hearing your voice...We missed you."

Rubbing the little girl's back, Maria whispered into her hair, "Just as I missed you, darling, and your singing." Raising her head, she wore a slight frown now. "But, really, children, what you did was entirely out of line." Her lips were pursed as the frown threatened to give way to a smile. "Didn't you remember what I told you to do when you're unhappy?"

"Sing about our favorite things?" Gretl asked, pulling her face from where she had buried it in Liesl's arms. The excitement of the morning had tired her out thoroughly.

"See, you _do_ remember," Maria said, tapping Marta's nose. "So why didn't you try that?"

"But that wouldn't have worked, Fräulein," Louisa said, shifting to tuck her lugs beneath herself. "It would have just reminded us of you. But it all worked out in the end—you came back!"

"Perhaps, but children, there _must_ have been a better way." Every face around her was incredulous, and as Marta leaned even closer, Maria simply closed her eyes with a sigh. "Then just promise me that your trickster days are finished."

"Oh, I don't know about _that_, Fräulein," Liesl said, her face for a moment wearing the same grin that her father often had when he felt like teasing his children. "It would be quite a hard habit to break; but suppose we'll just have to try our best." Maria did not bother to fight her smile, nor the laughter that broke with it, any longer.

* * *

Maria had put the children to bed with relative ease, kissing each of them goodnight with no resistance—even the boys! Gretl and Marta had each demanded yet another hug from her, which she gave willingly, along with another kiss. Friedrich and Kurt, she had been pleased to discover, were not engaged in a scuffle this night, and Brigitta dropped that same book of poems she had persuaded Maria to read from without protest. Liesl and Louisa, sitting together on the older girl's bed, turned at her voice, slight color across their cheeks, but they did not argue as she waved Louisa off to her own bed, her voice firm as she requested they go to sleep. 

Every child, even Liesl and Friedrich, were exhausted by the day, mostly, she believed, by the game of Capture the Flag they had spent their morning on. She had been regaled with most of the details, and wished that she might have been there to see Captain von Trapp declared a prisoner by his children.

Her bedroom was the same as before, though dark blue drapes now adorned the windows. She might have thought she had never left. Frau Schmidt had been kind enough to unpack her few things while she occupied the children throughout the afternoon, and Maria found herself silently thanking the woman as she opened the door, her own exhaustion overtaking her. Even her bones were tired, aching deeply, and as she pulled the door closed behind her, Maria stifled a massive yawn.

Approaching her brass bed frame, still covered with its white comforter, she knelt, crossing herself quickly. "Dear Father," she whispered, bowing her head heavily over her hands, almost resting her forehead on the soft comforter before her as her eyes closed, "I have not yet this day given you my thanks. And today, I have so much to thank you for. You have brought me back to these children. I do love them so dearly, Father, and I feel more than ever that I will be able to prepare them for a new mother." Her eyelids fluttered softly in hope; it would be ever so good for the children to have a mother.

"I do ask you to bless each of them: Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt"—she smiled as she remembered him—"Brigitta, Marta, and Gretl. My Father, also bless the Captain, for he has at last seen his children, and what a wonderful gift they are to him. Bless the Reverend Mother—keep her well, Father, for many years to come—Sister Margaretta, Sisters Catherine and Sophia, even Sister Berthe. And Father, bestow your blessings on Baroness Schräder, so that she may see the love that these children will offer her when she is their mother." Raising her head, she finished quietly, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen."

Pushing herself up, she lifted the comforter with a sluggish arm and crawled beneath it, not bothering to change into her nightgown, only just remembering to slip off her shoes. In a deep part of her mind, Maria felt the weight of the layers too much for the summer night, but her body had collapsed into the mattress; even as her hand reached for the light to snap if off, she fell into a sleep that came swifter than the previous two nights.

The children filled her dreams, and Maria found herself envying their mother.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** The poem Maria recites is "In Flanders Fields," by John McCrae, a Canadian officer who died in 1918 in World War I.  



	23. Possibilities

**Chapter 23: Possibilities**

The room had been silent for a few minutes when Louisa sat up again. She felt as much as her youngest sisters the urge to sleep, but the words she had exchanged with Liesl earlier called to her. Sliding her feet from her bed to the soft carpeted floor, she crossed the room to her sister, tapping her on the shoulder...once...twice...

After the third time, she frowned, and finally shook the older girl. "What?" Liesl mumbled, turning her face to Louisa. She had already been asleep, and as she saw her sister peering down at her, she closed her eyes and sank into her pillow again.

"Liesl," Louisa hissed, holding her voice low to avoid waking Brigitta, whose soft breathing filled the room. "Get up—you promised we would finish our conversation tonight." Her sister groaned, but she began to sit up, rubbing at the exhaustion filling her eyes.

"Oh, all right," she said, drawing up her hand to cover her yawn. Tossing back her comforter and sheets, she dropped her feet to the floor and took her sister's hand. "Come over to the window; there's at least _some_ light to keep me awake." Stepping into the pool of moonlight, Liesl collapsed on to the carpet, and Louisa followed, tucking her feet into the folds of her nightgown.

The younger girl wanted earnestly to talk about their governess, about what had so clearly passed between her and their father, but she could not find the words to express her hope. Those words from all those weeks ago were welling up in her mind; perhaps she could begin there. "Do you know why Father invited Baroness Schräder to visit us?" Louisa said at last, her face gloomy in the pale light.

"Yes," Liesl said, leaning back against the white painted wall of their room. "I can't think of any other—he's considering marrying her. I was wondering if I should have been asking you that, but it seems you already knew."

Louisa's face colored faintly. "I heard Frau Schmidt and a maid discussing it...weeks ago." The churning her stomach had taken in that moment came to her again, intensified by her dealings with the woman. The thought of her as their mother...No, when she thought of a mother, she thought of Fräulein Maria. But was that even right, to _want_ her as a mother, when she meant to be a nun?

Liesl scowled, to her sister's surprise; Liesl was rarely unpleasant. "Why didn't you tell me what you heard? That would have been nice to know!"

"Well, I'm sorry," Louisa said, leaning back out of the light that shone in her eyes. "It's just...nevermind. I've told you _now_, and, anyway, you already had it figured!"

"Let's not argue, Louisa," Liesl said, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms about them. Even in the heat of summer, the nights always managed to be cool. "It's too late for that. Let's just finish what we were talking about before...Fräulein Maria. Father hardly glanced away from her all of dinner."

"He never even looked at _her._" The word left Louisa's lips in a sneer she did not bother to conceal. "He just looked at Fräulein Maria."

"He looked at Mother that way," Liesl whispered, drifting back to the memories of her mother and father, before everything had fallen apart. "Like there was no other person in the world."

"Did he?" Sometimes, Louisa could hardly remember her mother. She had been nine when her mother had died, old enough for the memories to be clear, but Louisa had spent most of her free time with her father. Her mother had always known and accepted that she was her father's daughter, and would rather not be bothered with the difficulties of growing into a young lady. It had been Liesl who had enjoyed those things.

"All the time," Liesl said, drawing her sister back to the present moment. "They were so in love, Louisa, but I think you knew that. Otherwise, Father would hardly have done what he did after she died. It's just, he was so empty once she was gone."

"I'm not sure that running away from us did any good," Louisa said, scratching her forehead, beneath her fringe. "You'd think he would be looking for someone to replace her, then—and why not choose us? We're half Mother, enough to fill whatever space she left!"

"But that was the problem. We were too much a reminder, Louisa. That's why he went to Vienna, that's why he's considering marrying Baroness Schräder now. I thought you understood that much."

"Not really," the younger girl said. "There's a difference between knowing why, and understanding."

"I don't think any of us will ever truly understand that. But we're not getting anywhere Louisa," Liesl said, struggling to hold back another yawn. "It's late, and we're both too tired. Can't we just finish this in the morning?"

"Do you really mean what you said?" Louisa asked, standing carefully, still in the pool of moonlight. "Father really looks at Fräulein Maria the way he looked at Mother?"

"Absolutely." Pushing herself to stand, Liesl stretched her arms in the air, wondering just what she had seen sparkling in Louisa's eyes. "I didn't think he would every look at another person that way again."

"Then..." Louisa's mouth was dry at the possibility she had fancied she had seen that afternoon at lunch and again at dinner. With Liesl's words, it no longer seemed that she was stretching for a mysterious possibility. "Do you think Father will fall in love with Fräulein Maria?"

Pulling back the sheets and comforter on her bed, Liesl turned to gaze at her sister, pale in the dim illumination of the moon. "You've been listening to Brigitta too much. That just happens in fairy tales." Sliding beneath the layers, Liesl let her head fall back on to her linen pillow. "Good night, Louisa."

Crawling into her own bed, Louisa brought her quilt up to her chin, wrapping her fingers around the edge. Why couldn't it be possible? Father had hardly even glanced at Baroness Schräder throughout lunch and dinner; he had been fixated on Fräulein Maria. Was it necessarily impossible? Or was it merely unlikely? Stifling her own yawn, she turned to lie on her stomach and rest her chin on her white linen pillow. Though her eyelids were heavy, she did not think she would sleep for a time.

Why did Liesl doubt the possibility that Father could fall in love with Fräulein Maria, she asked herself, when it was she who had been able to read the looks that passed between them, she who had said that Father looked at Fräulein Maria as he had looked at Mother. She had never known her sister to be a...pessimist, but at this point, it was all Louisa could label her.

She wouldn't deny that Liesl knew better the appearance of love; Louisa had barely been able to keep from gagging as that boy—Rolfe—kiss her sister's cheek. Letting her eyes close as she buried her face into the soft pillow, Louisa sighed.

She could still hope. She had survived four years of a hope that had seemed fruitless; she could do it again.


	24. Losing Myself

**Chapter 24: Losing Myself**

"No." Marta's face was determinedly scrunched as she set her eyes on the spinach dumpling on her plate. "I won't eat it." Across from her, Liesl's face begged her to simply eat her breakfast, but her sister's teeth bit her lip harder.

"Marta," Maria said lowly, crouching by the young girl's place at the table, "I know that you're not fond of spinach, but you really must eat your breakfast. Frau Schmidt put in ever so much work so that you could eat."

"But I don't _like _it," the girl said, crossing her arms as she pouted her lips. Maria shook her head without a word as the little girl took her fork and began to eat the _Palatschinken_ that bordered the _Spinatknöde__l_.

"Marta," she said again, gently tugging the fork from the tiny fingers, "it is good for you. And if you eat enough of it, soon you will grow up to be as big and strong as Liesl." The child took in the amused expression of her eldest sister with a narrowed gaze, her eyes drifting back to her governess after a moment.

"Do you promise?" she asked quietly as Maria let her take the utensil once again.

Kissing the girl's hair, Maria smiled. "With all my heart, Marta. Think of all the things you'll be able to do then." The child still grimaced at the dumpling but soon sighed, and obediently sliced through it with the edge of her fork and began to eat.

The children had been easier to rouse that morning than in the week she had spent with them before, though whether because they were overjoyed to see her or because she had promised the night before to allow them to spend the day doing what they wished, she wasn't sure. Standing, she looked over the rest of the children, eating with gusto and chattering quietly amongst themselves.

Taking her own seat, Maria was relieved to begin her own breakfast as a new rumble rose from her belly. As the children had filed into the dining room, she had been surprised to see the Captain was absent, and strangely disappointed. Taking a bite of her own spinach dumpling, she tried to not bring her teeth down on her tongue as her stomach dropped. Had she just thought _that_, that she was _disappointed_ that she did not see the Captain this morning? If anything, she should be pleased to not have to deal with him! But...

"Fräulein Maria?" Liesl said quietly, drawing her back to the table. "Is something wrong?" The older woman shook her head gently, remembering that she sat at a table of children, a forkful of dumpling still waiting in her mouth to be chewed. Sliding her fork out from her lips and chewing quickly, Maria smiled.

"No, Liesl," she said after she swallowed, a faint glow spreading across her cheeks. "I'm just a little tired yet, that's all."

"Did you not sleep well last night?"

"No, nothing like that. Yesterday was simply a very busy day for me, and I wasn't prepared for the toll it would take on me." Slicing a small portion of her _Spinatknöde__l_, she gave the girl another small smile.

"Well, then, Fräulein," said a low voice from the foyer, holding back a chuckle, "let us all hope that you are yourself sometime soon. I understand my children can be quite ingenious with those who are unsuspecting." Lifting her face from her plate, that color that had extended across her cheeks only intensified as she felt his eyes fall upon her.

"Good morning, Captain," she said, nodding her head as around her, the children chorused, "Good morning, Father."

"And a good morning to all of _you_," Georg said as he entered the dining room, Elsa following him. He had not expected to see her descending the stairs when he had glanced up at the echo of feet; though he knew the man would be absent for some days, Georg had considered it to be Max, determined to catch a hot breakfast, but never Elsa. "I will say this is a more pleasant breakfast scene than any over the past few days." Maria's color deepened, for his words could only be directed at her.

Elsa bit her lip as she took her seat, nearer to Liesl than any of the other children. She read people well enough to know that the young governess was quite attracted to Georg—that much was written across her face. But as she turned to Georg, his eyes already fixed upon the woman, Elsa was not sure what she saw there.

She knew his reason for inviting her to visit his family, just as every one of her friends and acquaintances in Vienna knew the reason—marrying her was very seriously on his mind, something she had been very glad for. Yet from the moment that his children had passed into his sight in that boat with their governess and tumbled into the water, laughing all the while, he had been a different man. Even in his anger, he had been changed; and this man who played games with his children, who was now laughing at some small anecdote that the girl at his elbow—Marta, perhaps; Elsa could hardly tell the younger children apart—was whispering in his ear, he was anything but the man she remembered from Vienna.

"...yes, Marta," he was saying as Elsa dropped one of the _Spinatknöde__l _on her plate, "Fräulein Maria _is_ very smart. It's not very easy to translate poetry, especially out of English; it's quite a dreadful language. But from her rendition, I would say she can do so marvelously." Maria's head jerked up from helping Gretl with her potatoes as the compliment was given. "Don't seem so surprised, Fräulein," Georg continued, straightening in his chair as he began to cut his eggs, "I heard you reading some poetry to the children yesterday. It was quite lovely."

"Thank you...sir," she stammered, turning to Gretl quicker than necessary as the Captain's gaze came over her once more. Louisa's eyes narrowed at the gesture. No, she was not blind—there was something between them, even if Liesl refused to see it.

The table descended into silence, not one forced but one that was easy and welcomed, as no person could think of a thing to say. Only the clatter of silverware on plates and glasses being replaced on the table filled the air for quite some time. Glancing down to her _fräulein_, still warming just at the sight, Brigitta blinked carefully.

"Father?" she said, but he hardly even turned his head at her query. He had hardly even touched his breakfast yet. He had sliced his eggs and _Spinatknöde__l,_ but had paid them no more mind. His eyes were still on Fräulein Maria. "Father?"

"Hmm?" Georg pulled his vision at last from the young woman opposite him at the table, allowing it to fall on his daughter. "Yes, Brigitta?"

"Where is Uncle Max?" Though he had been absent for much of the same time as Fräulein Maria, he would have sat by her side now; there was no place else.

"Oh, he's out on business," Georg said, his eyes drifting to Maria once more. She flushed beneath his conspicuous examination, but he could not force himself to look away—even for her comfort. "He'll probably be gone for a few days, trying to find some new talent to exploit."

"Come now, Georg," Elsa said, leaning towards the man, her voice lilted as she let her hand fall on his. "You're far too harsh on him." He did not even glance her way, and she held a grimace close. Beside her, Liesl jumped as a foot smacked into her shin, and across the table, Louisa fixed her with a glare. _You see,_ that look said.

Allowing her own eyes to pass from her father to her governess, following the gaze that connected one to the other, Liesl's heart thumped almost painfully. Was Louisa right? Beneath their father's gaze, Fräulein Maria was still colored a dark red, a shade that only brightened as he allowed his eyes to linger. Dropping her attention to her plate, Liesl continued to eat, her smile at what Louisa had seen hidden by her activity.

"Come along, children," Maria said after a few minutes had passed, "it's time you were about your studies." She smiled as she stood to groans from every child. "It won't be that bad," she continued, offering her hand to Gretl. "Just an hour, and then you'll have the entire day to spend as you choose."

"Really?" Brigitta said, shoving her chair back as the rest of her siblings climbed from theirs.

"Really," Maria said, laughing at the girl's honest enthusiasm as she opened her arm to wrap Brigitta in a quick embrace that she accepted quickly. "Just as I promised last night."

At the opposite end of the table, giving Marta her own hand, Liesl's face broadened into a smile. _Whatever we choose,_ she thought. There was one thing she knew that she wished to do, and drawing in her brothers and sisters would be anything but difficult.

* * *

"It really is a lovely morning, Georg," Elsa said quietly, letting her hand rest on his, enjoying the warmth of his skin. How long had it been since she had kept him to herself? Not during this entire journey, she knew, and she was determined to keep him, sitting so near to her. "Surely you cannot intend to spend it inside." 

"Well, what would you have me do with it, darling?" he asked, allowing himself to feel the smoothness of her skin. It held him at his desk in his study, rather than allowing him to drift away to his children...to their governess. "Other than spend it with you, that is?"

"Am I such a bore?" she asked, her other hand drawn up to her chest, feigning the feeling of an insult.

"Oh, never, Elsa," he said, turning his hand beneath hers to grasp her fingers with his own. "I merely thought it was apparent that you would be with me wherever I am." He wore the same wry grin that he was known for in Vienna—with that expression, she recognized him.

"I'm glad we've cleared up that difficulty," she said, allowing his hand to tighten its grip. "So, what _shall_ we be doing?"

"Perhaps—" His sentence ended as a hesitant hand tapped on the door of his study. "Come in."

Outside the study, Maria breathed quicker just at his voice, so warm and kind. Her heart was pounding as she twisted the handle on the door. The children had been difficult to control this morning, for as soon as she had led them from the dining room, Liesl pushed Marta towards Maria, then quickly led Louisa and Brigitta aside, whispering excitedly in their ears—and whatever she had to say filled them with the same anticipation that covered her own face.

_"Come along, children," she called over the cacophony, pulling Liesl's attention from her sisters. "You'll have the rest of the day to spend as you choose—after you spend an hour at your studies." Friedrich and Kurt groaned quietly, and Maria smiled as Marta rushed to her side. "It won't be that bad. In a few weeks, you'll be quite pleased that I kept you at them for the summer."_

_"Fräulein," Liesl said, drawing the attention of her governess._

_"Yes?"_

_"This afternoon, you said that we could do what we wished?" If she truly meant anything, then she knew _exactly _what she wished to do._

_"I did," Maria said, bending down to smooth Marta's hair, already poking from her braids. "And I mean what I said—whatever you wish."_

_"Could we work on our singing, Fräulein Maria? It hasn't been the same without you." The young woman almost glowed at the prospect of the afternoon._

_"Of course," Maria said, tapping Marta's nose to a giggle. "But first, to your books."_

_At her side, Liesl could see Louisa tapping her foot and Brigitta chewing her lip, as though begging her to continue. "But, Fräulein, could we ask Father to help us as well?"_

_"Your father?" The governess jerked at the words, almost losing her balance. "I did not know he was very musical, Liesl."_

_"Oh, yes, Fräulein," the girl gushed, the memories of her mother and father rushing up in her mind. "You already know that he plays the guitar, but he also plays the piano so beautifully, and he sings. He and Mother used to sing together all the time!"_

_"Liesl, your father must have things to do today, and I do not think he would like to be bothered—"_

_"Oh, Fräulein Maria," Brigitta said, stepping forward with a plaintive face, "you promised we could do what we wished. Mightn't we at least ask? There can be no harm in simply asking."_

_"Well..." Maria's voice trailed to silence. A great part of her wished to be as far from the Captain as possible, but a deeper portion of wanted to do what the children wished...to be near him. "Oh, all right," she said, smiles spreading over seven faces. "But now, to your work."_

Yet standing here now, pushing open the door to see this man, Maria wished she had the lightheartedness that had bade her to acquiesce to the children's wishes. Glancing behind her, those same seven faces were glowing at the thought of another day spent with their father—and for the children, she could even see herself facing Sister Berthe!

"Yes?" Georg asked as her face came into his view through a crack in the door. He felt eased by the mere sight of her, and if he had lost himself entirely in her sparkling eyes, he would have gone to her and offered her his hand as a gentleman would do for any lady. But with Elsa at his side...Here was not a place to lose control of himself.

"We're sorry for interrupting you, Captain," she said as she stepped through the doorway, drawing his children in a line behind her, "but the children would like to ask you something."

"Oh. What?" His eyes dropped to his desk, feigning an interest a stack of papers. _It is better this way,_ he said to himself, shuffling the first few about. _With Elsa here..._He found her with a quick glance, her face forming an irritated gaze at Maria and the children. _Can she ever be a true mother to them, the mother they need and deserve?_

"The children wish to spend the remainder of the day practicing their singing, Captain," Maria said, turning back to Liesl for a moment to a radiant smile on the girl's face. "And, sir, they would be ever so happy if you would help them."

"Me?" His own face came up suddenly, eyes wide in surprise as the single word broke the calm of his study.

"Yes, Captain. They would like you to help them with an accompaniment on the piano."

He bit his laughter as he pulled a face of quiet horror. "Oh, no, Fräulein, I'm sure you wouldn't want my attempt to sully what you've managed to create with these children. I haven't played in years."

"Father, please," Liesl said, stepping around her governess. Her father's gaze did not move, though; it was fixed on Fräulein Maria, and Liesl fought an urge to step away from the older woman, to allow him to look his fill of her. "Please," she continued, his eyes drifting to her after a moment. "You will still be quite good."

"Children," he began, ready to protest another time, but several voices cut him off.

"Oh, please, Father!" Brigitta said, her voice so like her mother's in that moment. The air was peppered with the pleas of Gretl and Marta, Friedrich and Kurt's simple requests, Liesl's insistence that he could not have forgotten everything. Louisa remained silent, but her lips twisted in a frown.

Could they ever recall him doing such a thing? Playing the piano or guitar, or singing, all things he had done with such enthusiasm years before? Liesl, Friedrich, and even Louisa, he knew their memories of those times were probably clear, but the others—Kurt and Brigitta might have the faint wisps of his voice and the tones of those instruments, but Marta and Gretl certainly knew nothing at all. The hope on every face...he could not hold in his sigh of regret. He had truly left them alone for more than four years—taken the one strength that should have been theirs when it was most needed. But now, now he could begin to pick up those pieces.

"I'm afraid I must ask your forgiveness, Elsa," he said, sliding back his chair to stand, "for the promise I will have to break. I confess, I can't refuse them." Every child practically glowed as he walked around his desk to join them, Marta running to slide her hand into his. Turning to Elsa for a moment longer, he smiled in resignation.

"Oh, you needn't worry," she said, rising from her own seat, pulled near his desk. "I'll be joining you." A few meters from the Baroness, Louisa pulled a face that she might have worn when sicking up. Across from her, Friedrich held a laugh, receiving an angry glare.

"Well, Fräulein," Georg said as the first of the children spilled into the foyer, Gretl and Brigitta almost running toward the drawing room, "if you have roped me into playing the piano, then I must insist you retrieve your guitar—we must have something to disguise my fumbling for these notes."

Maria smiled at his humor—perhaps the first time that she had allowed any mirth to show that was not drawn forth by the children. "As you wish, Captain," she said, nodding her head. "If you'll just give me a moment..."

"Oh, no worries, Fräulein," he said, drawing the crowd of his remaining children and Elsa to their destination, "we'll wait for you. I doubt we'd want our ears if we were forced to go on without you."

"I'm sure you would do wonderfully, Captain." Turning quickly, she walked into the foyer, and trotted up the stairs towards her room. As she opened the door and knelt to pull her guitar case from beneath her bed, she found herself wondering how he knew she played. _He has never heard me before,_ she thought, popping open the latches of the case and wrapping her fingers delicately about the neck. _Did he remember me holding the case my first day here?_

Pulling the door closed behind her, Maria shook her head. "Why would he bother to remember that?" she said quietly as she took to the stairs. "He just remembers Liesl playing, and he assumed you taught her." The entrance to the drawing room nearing, she could see most of the children circled about the grand piano on the carpet; Baroness Schräder had settled herself upon a couch near the bench. The Captain was seated at the piano, Marta and Brigitta were perched upon the bench as well, leaning back to avoid his elbows as his hands ran along the keys, trying to remember movements long neglected.

Her heart pounded even as she stood—how different this man was from the one she had met! The first had been a father only in formalities, the provider of the children's flesh and blood. But this man _was_ a father, a man who now wrapped his arm about Marta's shoulder and kissed her forehead for no reason but that she was near. He was utterly changed.

"Fräulein," Liesl called, and Maria jumped a bit.

"I'm sorry," she said as she came into the room, her cheeks flushing as the Captain turned to her. His eyes twinkled in his face—had she never noticed that before?

"Ah, thank you for joining us, Fräulein," he said with a smile. Beckoning her forward, he said, "Come over here." Maria's steps were hesitant, but he gestured for her to come again, and so she went, taking her place by beside the lifted portion of the grand piano's lid. "So," he continued, turning to his children, "now that you have commandeered your instruments, what would you like to sing?"

"Something we know, Father," Louisa said from where she sat on the carpet beside Liesl and Gretl by the Baroness Schräder's feet.

"Yes," Friedrich agreed, sitting with Kurt across the room from his sisters.

"Then we'll have to test Fräulein Maria," Georg said, lifting his arm from Marta to rest his fingers delicately upon the keys. "See if _she_ can remember this song." Beneath his hands, the sweet notes of a traditional Austrian song flowed from the instrument, matched only by his low baritone voice. _"Zwischen Berg und Tal rauscht der Wasserfall..."_

Maria's fingers were equally quick to find the chords on her guitar, and her voice rose with his own, the memory of the words rising quickly. "..._Hoidirio diridirio..."_ Her eyes fell across the children, and she took her hand from her guitar for a moment, gesturing for them to sing along.

_"Und mei Hütt' danebn 's is a lustig's Leb'n...Hoidirio diridirio..."_ All but Gretl knew the song, and she just leaned against Liesl, enjoying the newness of the morning and the words that the others sang. _"Dieses schöne Land is mei Hoamatland...Hoidiridiridiridirio. Dort vom Attersee..."_

The chords and words spun around Maria, and she thought she was lost within them—the warmth, the clarity. Her fingers moved of their own will, and she did not know that they did. _He_ filled her eyes, her ears, her mind, her everything, and as the words of the song passed, others taking their place, she sighed at the simple joy within the room.

On the floor, Louisa resisted the urge to pinch her sister, but poked Liesl instead. "What?" the older girl whispered.

"Look at Fräulein Maria," Louisa said, ruffling Gretl's hair as she had been doing before. "Look how she's looking at Father." Her gaze settling on her _fräulein_, Liesl's face almost burned with the raw emotion plainly visible on the woman.

"You might be right," she whispered, her voice drawing Gretl's face at last.

"About what?" the little girl asked, but Liesl shook her head with a smile.

"Later," she said quietly. "Just listen to Father and Fräulein Maria..."

Hardly noticing the girls whispering on the floor, Elsa tapped her foot impatiently, glancing at her watch as each song reached its conclusion, noting each time with disdain that the minute hand marched along at a bloody slow pace. As every five minutes or so passed, she held a groan that it had not passed quicker. But when her watch at last read five till twelve, she felt brave enough to venture a few words into the singing around her.

"Georg," she said, but the man did not respond to her voice. She could follow his vision, and it led her to the young governess. "Georg," she said, louder this time. This time, he turned to her, his eyes almost dreamy, unfocused on her.

"Yes, Elsa?" His voice had lost the firm tone that it had possessed through his singing, and was now as unaware as his eyes.

"It's almost noon, darling," she said, her eyelashes fluttering delicately. "Don't you think that we should be getting ready for luncheon? I thought you would know by now that children have insatiable appetites!"

"After the massive breakfast that Frau Schmidt prepared for them?" he said with a laugh.

"Oh, no, Father," Kurt said. "I'm starving!"

"Of course, _you_ would be," Friedrich said, leaning away from his brother's attempted blow. "What he means is, are the normal ones of us hungry?"

"Well, I'm hungry, too," Louisa said, beginning to stand. "You can't expect breakfast to be enough for an entire day, Father."

"Then go on," Georg said, nudging Brigitta and Marta from the bench, sliding the bench backward to allow himself room to stand. His eyes found Maria's again, and he smiled, hardly reminding himself that he could not permit himself to reach out and offer her his arm to escort her to the dining room. "You play very well, Fräulein."

She blushed at the compliment as she propped her guitar against the piano, hoping her hands did not tremble as much as she feared. "As do you, Captain." Maria still stood back, but he gestured for her to go before him, and she did so with halting steps, grateful and regretful that she would not have to see his face for a few moments. She could not recall either her own singing or playing after the beginning of the first song. No, all she remembered was his rich voice rising from his throat, his strong fingers dancing upon the keys, finding runs as his fingers dipped beneath one another, flowing as if he had found his place in the world. And his face, glowing in the light that spilled into the drawing room, smiling at her as if no other person existed in the world beyond themselves.

Had her expression been the same? Maria's heart raced as she followed Liesl toward the dining room. She feared it had.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The song they sing is a traditional Austrian folk song.  



	25. Edelweiss

**Chapter 25: Edelweiss**

"Ah, thank you, Franz," Max said as the butler held open the front of Georg's villa. The man didn't answer, but merely nodded his head and bent to take the bag that Max had left on the front steps. "Where is Georg?"

"In the drawing room with the family, Herr Detweiler," Franz said as he straightened with the bag in his hand, pulling the door closed.

Max coughed to cover his surprise. "I must have misspoken, Franz, I meant to ask where _Captain_ von Trapp was."

"As I said, Herr Detweiler, he is in the drawing room with his family. Good day, sir." Bowing, he began his ascent of the stairs, leaving Max entirely puzzled. No, this was _not_ what he had expected on his return; he might have spoken harshly to his friend the evening before his departure, but he had never dreamed that the words might make an impact of any sort. Georg was far too stubborn.

It was strange, though: from the direction of the drawing room, he thought he heard singing. _Must be the stress of the past few days,_ he told himself. _Georg does not allow singing in his home. It reminds him too much of her..._But the voice was so familiar.

_"Edelweiss, Edelweiss, every morning you greet me."_ No, even as he neared the drawing room, he felt his mind deceived him. That could not be _Georg!__"Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me."_ A bit of laughter had filtered through the final words. How many years had it been since he had even seen the man smile? _"Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever. Edelweiss, Edelweiss, bless my homeland forever."_

At the threshold of the room, he could not believe himself to see correctly. At the piano that Georg had for so long kept only for Agathe's memory, his old friend sat, flanked on the bench by his youngest daughters, allowing the strains of _Edelweiss_ to fill the room as easily as they had so many years ago.

Elsa sat solitary on the sofa in the room, her arms crossed and her face not particularly pleased. The remaining children were sprawled on the floor, some sitting, some prostrate with their chins propped on their hands, all dressed as he had never seen them before, in clothes sewn of some green flowered fabric. By the piano stood a young woman Max did not know, playing a guitar beautifully. There was a joy in her eyes he had rarely seen, and the only name he could put to her was that of Fräulein Maria.

_"Edelweiss, Edelweiss..."_ The young woman had joined Georg's singing, and her voice was as pure as Georg's, just as wonderful. _"...every morning you greet me. Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me..."_

Georg turned awkwardly to his children, lifting one hand from the piano, waving for them to join the song. The smiles that sprang across their faces, Max could tell they had been waiting for that invitation. Maneuvering about them carefully, he perched himself on the sofa beside Elsa.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered, irritation in her voice as she leaned close to him.

"What?" he asked, perfectly innocent for once.

"To bring along my harmonica." He coughed again to hold in his laughter as the children joined their father and _fräulein_ in the song.

_"Blossom of snow, may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever."_ Their voices were beautiful, a talent he had not been aware the Von Trapp children possessed in the least. He had only heard them sing from a distance, but here—they were extraordinary! _"Edelweiss, Edelweiss, bless my homeland forever."_

The final chords hung in the room, nearly deafening in their echo as a thought crossed Max's mind. "That was lovely, Georg," he said as the quiet tone faded. "Quite lovely."

"Well, then," the Captain said, drawing his youngest child into his lap as he turned on the piano bench to face the room about him, "I'm glad we have met with your approval. And it is quite a pleasure to see you again, Max, returned from your latest search for undeveloped talent. But don't direct your kind words to me—they belong to this young lady." He glanced over his shoulder to Maria, smiling as she set her guitar to lean against one leg of the piano. "I don't believe you have met before."

"No, Georg, you had dismissed her before I had the pleasure," Max said, pushing himself from the soft cushions of the sofa to stand. He crossed the room quickly, taking Maria's hand to bring to his lips reverently. "However, I am enchanted to at last make the acquaintance of the infamous Fräulein Maria, the cause of all the madness within this house a few days past." Her face reddened as he let her hand fall. "Oh, that is a compliment, my dear," he continued, turning to Georg. "It's not many who can bring _this_ stubborn man out of himself."

"Max..." Georg let his tone finish his gentle threat.

"What?" his friend asked, spreading his hands innocently. "I thought you didn't approve of my lying in front of your children. Something about me being a _bad example_ for them! But, Georg's tenacity aside, I do believe I have marvelous news for all of you! Today, after a long and desperate search, I have finally found a most exciting entry for the Salzburg Folk Festival!"

"Congratulations, Max," Georg said, brushing his hand through Gretl's falling waves of brown hair. He could already make his guess as to what his friend meant; the man was so transparent at times. "And who will you be exploiting this time?"

"Ha ha!" Max said, raising a finger in protest. "I'll not let you off so easily!"

"The Saint Ignatius Choir?" Elsa said, gratified that she had pulled Georg's eyes to her, even if but for a moment. He had hardly given her a moment's attention over the past few days; most of his time had been spent with his children, running about outdoors with them and their governess, reading to them occasionally, and of course singing. She had not even been able to hold him to her at mealtimes, for then, he only had eyes for the governess. She could not believe that Georg's affection for her had vanished so swiftly; if she could only speak to him alone, she would be able to bring him back to her.

Max merely smiled at her voice. "Guess again!"

"Hmm...let me see now," Georg said, feigning confusion as Gretl looked up to him, hope filling her face that he would guess Max's secret. He tapped her nose with his finger, and she giggled just as she had as an infant. "The Klopmann Choir?"

"No, no, no," Max said, clasping his hands behind his back. His friend's eyes betrayed his knowledge—Georg already had deciphered precisely what he wished to do. He merely played along for the children.

"No?" Georg spoke with that same false mystification as Gretl broke into a pout at her father's defeat.

"No, no."

"Tell us," Liesl said from the carpet, pushing herself up to sit on her knees. Her eyes were narrowed, and he thought he could read a bit of comprehension.

"A singing group all in one family." Max could see the older children, perhaps even Kurt, knew what he meant now. "You'll never guess, Georg."

A bit of laughter rose in Georg's throat as he cocked his head to one side. "What a charming idea, Max! Uh, whose family?"

Max let himself chuckle as well. "Yours." Resting one of his elbow on the frame of the piano, he smiled in spite of the easily seen rejection building in Georg's eyes. "The Von Trapp Family Singers. You will be the talk of the festival."

"Oh."

The excitement from the children was more enthusiastic as they scrambled to their feet. "Oh, please, Father," came from Brigitta while Marta merely clapped her hands, her legs swinging in the air as she sat beside her father on the piano bench. Liesl and Louisa were swallowing broad grins and the boys were trying to not appear excited by the possibility of performing. Gretl's eyes were glowing from her father's lap, though she was not certain what her brothers and sisters were so pleased about. But if it involved singing, her father, or Fräulein Maria, she was eager for it!

Still clutching Gretl to him, Georg sighed quietly at the chaos swirling about him. It was so pleasant to be immersed in it, simple, complete, and filled with joy. "No, Max," he said after a moment, twisting his back from looking over his shoulder at Maria. The mirth before him had vanished, but the chattering of his children had not as a groan went up from every one.

"It's a wonderful idea!" Max said, more for the children's benefit than his own. Georg's mind was already decided. "Fresh, original..."

"Max," the Captain said, in that tone that left no room for doubt, "my family does not sing in public." Had he said that, he asked himself. His _family?_ True, he did not wish them to sing in public and make a spectacle of themselves, no matter how talented they might be, but that word: family. Maria's voice had risen above all the rest, as much a rock for the children to stand upon as his own voice had been. His family? Was that the proper word?

"Well, you can't blame me for trying." Max's lament pulled him into the room once more. _Now is not the time to worry about such things,_ he thought, letting his gaze drift to Elsa. _Remember why you invited her to visit your _family,_ Georg. Remember that above all else._

"No, I suppose not," Georg said at last, glancing down as he felt Gretl shift in his lap, threading her tiny arms about his neck.

"Please?" she whispered into his ear.

"No, darling," he said, tugging her far enough from him that she could see his face clearly. "You'll just have to enjoy your music around the house."

Elsa sat straighter on the sofa. _That might work,_ she thought, her gaze on Georg stronger as he kissed his daughter's cheek. "Well then, Georg, you really _must _fill this house with music. You must give a grand and glorious party for me while I'm here." Every child's smile was broader, and a warmth bloomed in Elsa's heart—that was the first time she had seen them even pleased by anything she had said or done.

"A party?" Georg said, feigning indifference as those same children so lately despairing gathered about him and Gretl tightened her grasp around his neck.

"Yes, please Father!" Their voices were mingled, and he could hardly tell his sons' pleas from those of his daughters. "Please, would you, Father?"

"Yes," Elsa said, standing gracefully, holding her eyes on Georg. She had his attention now, and she would not let herself be distracted by the young woman still standing by the piano and Max. "I think it's high time I met all your friends here in Salzburg, and they met me. Don't you agree?"

"I see what you mean." He chuckled quietly into Gretl's hair, but inwardly...he felt nothing at Elsa's suggestion, except perhaps a cool fear. He knew _precisely_ what she meant by meeting his friends in Salzburg, for it was the same reason he had invited her to his home, yet he could not bring himself to be as pleased as he believed he should be.

"Please!" Gretl's small fingers on his neck brought him back, his ears at last hearing the rest of his children begging for a party. "Please! Please, Father!"

"A marvelous idea, if I do say so myself," Max said, and Georg turned to glance at his friend over his shoulder as best he could manage. But though he had turned to Max, it was not his friend he saw—it was only Maria that filled his sight.

She still stood by the piano, the warm light of the midday sun cascading over her—in that moment, she seemed an angel, her eyes sparkling, her skin glowing with a warmth that was always present in her. "And one I'll readily admit I'm ashamed I did not think of." Max's voice interrupted his thoughts, and Georg blinked quickly, turning his face to Elsa once more. _Not here._

"Why," Max continued, "I'll have another crowd to help me convince you to let this wild band sing in the festival. So far the only one who might even be of help to me is this lovely lady." He offered the governess a smile as her cheeks flushed at the compliment.

Maria shook her head quietly, stepping back from the man as she felt the burning creeping along her face. "Forgive me, Herr Detweiler, but that would be entirely the Captain's decision. They are, after all, his children."

"Ah, well," Max said, letting his other elbow rest on the piano, "I can still try, can't I, my dear?"

"I am sure that we would be worried if you did _not_, Max," Georg said, lifting Gretl from his lap to set her on the floor. "I should be tempted to ask what on earth had become of Max Detweiler!"

"Then you should be glad that I try!"

Maria held in her laughter as she stepped around Max. She could sense _his_ eyes on her, as though they were a heat in and of themselves, and the same crimson that had bloomed on her cheeks spread further. Any longer...she didn't know if she could stand it. "Come along, children," she said as she found her voice, clapping her hands. "You shouldn't spend the entire day inside."

"Can't we sing some more?" Marta asked even as she slipped her hand into Maria's grasp, neither feeling the sweat on her governess's palm nor the quickening of the pulse in her thumb.

"Wasn't the entire morning and the beginning of the afternoon enough for you?" Georg asked, leaning over to kiss his daughter's cheek before she jumped to the floor. Drawing back, he could not help but let his gaze fall on Maria again, her profile still illuminated by that same wash of sunlight. _She is beautiful. Kind, warm, gentle..._

"Perhaps we'll sing some more outside," Maria said, crossing the room with Marta as the rest of the children followed her. "But you'll enjoy the fresh air. Come along." No more protests came as they filed from the room after their governess, one or two glancing back to their father, waving before they turned from sight.

Silence filled the drawing room for a few moments as Max gathered his thoughts. "You know, Georg," he said, his voice unusually serious, "I never thought I would hear you sing again, after Agathe died. I never thought I would hear you play this piano again."

Running his hand over his face as the ugly memories rose, Georg sighed. "Neither did I, Max. Even after I had heard them singing, even after I had asked Fräulein Maria to return—"

"A damn good idea," Max said, drawing a weak smile from his friend. It would do no good for Georg to remember the past, for it was unchangeable. "I doubt you'd have survived very long."

"Probably not," Georg said, his gaze focused on Max as he stood, sliding the bench beneath the piano. He could not look at Elsa, for he was grateful to his children for their actions—else, he knew he would have never seen their pain, felt their love again, allowed them to have the love from him that they deserved! Elsa rightfully expected him to be apologetic for his children's behavior, but he could not be. "You see, a few days ago, the day after you left, if I recall, they came and asked me to accompany their singing. How could I refuse them?"

"Not very easily," Max said, straightening from the piano. "It is wonderful to see you again, Georg, as the man that you once were. I will confess I missed him."

His old friend smiled, an expression that for so many years had hardly crossed his visage. As he walked across the room to take Elsa's arm, he turned to Max again. "You have no idea, Max, how wonderful it is to _be_ him once more!"


	26. Blue

**Chapter 26: Blue**

"Oh, come look at this Fräulein Maria!" Liesl called to her governess from across the small store, pulling a light green dress from the rack. "This would look just lovely on you, Fräulein!"

Sighing lowly, Maria squeezed Marta and Gretl's shoulders. "I'll be right back," she said, bending down to speak to them. "Stay near Louisa." They nodded, but quickly turned to the display of hair ribbons that they had been admiring before. Her gaze rising to the older girl, Maria rolled her eyes, and Louisa laughed quietly in agreement. If she had been forced to pick one girl who might have wished to remain at home with Friedrich and Kurt, it would have been Louisa; she was the tomboy in the family.

"Fräulein Maria?" Now Brigitta, near Liesl, called her as well, and Maria hurried to join them.

"Yes?" Maria said, hoping her frustration was not beginning to show as Liesl held the flowing green dress out to her. She had not been fond of this idea in the least to begin with, but if she had known how this _small_ shopping trip would exhaust her, she would have fought it tooth and nail.

"You must try this one on, Fräulein," Liesl said, offering the green dress to her governess. The sleeves would pass her elbows, the waist was bound by a length of fabric a shade darker than the rest, and the skirt flared at its conclusion a bit below her knees.

"Really, Liesl," Maria said as the girl pressed the wooden hanger into her hands, trying to manage the words she had hoped to say for several hours, "I don't need a dress for the party. I'll hardly even be in sight—"

"Please, Fräulein Maria," Brigitta said, her dark eyes wide. "It will look so pretty on you."

_How long will it be until I can ignore that look?_ Maria asked herself as she let the fabric of the dress drape over her arm, allowing herself to be led by Liesl into one of the dressing rooms. _Never,_ she thought wistfully as the door fell closed behind the girl. After all, if not even their father could ignore them, what chance did she have?

_The conversation over breakfast was not filled with the antics that had become typical of the Von Trapp home, but instead with the queries of excited children. When the party their father had promised to give would be, who would be invited, how many years it had been since the last one..._

_"All right, all right," Georg snapped after a few minutes of the deafening noise swiftly rising above his tolerance. Most of the children's faces immediately dropped to their plates, their words silenced, though Gretl was still smiling up at her governess, her excitement unquenchable. "Now," he continued, wincing at the harshness of his voice, "if we could keep the volume to a reasonable level, you may begin again."_

_None of the children spoke for a time, but instead busied themselves with piling sausages, eggs, and slices of toast and jam on their plates. It was the same silence that had reigned easily a month earlier, and now it filled the air uncomfortably. At Georg's side, Elsa picked at her egg. His eyes had not been completely fixated upon the governess as they had for most her time with the family, but he seemed troubled to her, pondering a decision he could not share with any other as yet._

_"Father," Louisa said, finally breaking the silence as she sliced a piece of sausage with the edge of her fork, "will we be allowed to come downstairs during the party, like we were before?" Many of the details of the parties her parents had given so many years ago escaped Louisa's memory, but above all, she remembered gazing into the festivities from the terrace, mesmerized by the beautiful women and handsome men._

_"I don't see why not," he said, sipping from his glass of juice as Elsa sighed at the prospect of seven children running about a ball given in her honor. "But, Louisa, as before, I won't have you in the ballroom."_

_At her place along the table, his daughter's mouth twisted in half a frown as she swallowed her bit of sausage. "Yes, Father." At the edge of his vision, Elsa relaxed and Georg found himself, yet again, considering the wisdom of this_ party. _He would introduce her to his closest companions in Salzburg as the woman he intended to make the mother of his children—and he could not force himself to see her as such. No, a mother to his children...His thoughts drifted elsewhere, to a young woman who had led him to what he did not wish to see._

_"It won't be that bad, Louisa," Maria said from the opposite end of the table, not glancing up from slicing Gretl's eggs, for her eyes were sure to find the Captain rather than Louisa. "You'll be able to look your fill from the terrace." The girl wrinkled her nose, but continued eating her sausage without protest._

_"Father," Gretl said as her governess handed her a fork to begin eating with, her face entirely serious with her worry, "will Fräulein Maria be allowed to come as well?"_

_Georg coughed, trying not to laugh as he swallowed a piece of toast. "Of course, Gretl," he said, coughing dryly again, for Maria's cheeks had flushed at the sudden inquiry. "There must be someone around who can keep up with the seven of you and keep you under control."_

_"Oh,_really, _Georg," Elsa said, dropping her hand on to his arm. "You speak of them as though they are ruffians." She smiled even as she could see the children squirm just at the corners of her eyes._

_"I would think you of all people would agree, Elsa," he said, not bothering to hide his observation of his children's discomfort. Well, they should feel_some, _he knew. What they had done was absolutely inappropriate...yet he had no true anger for them. His anger had burnt itself out. Besides, it was_ they _who had cause for anger, for four years of emptiness from him. Sighing quietly, he continued to eat his toast._

_Seated next to Baroness Schräder as she always was, Liesl frowned. Her father would hardly have considered it appropriate to confide even in her the reason for his giving the Baroness such a lavish party as it seemed this event was shaping up to be, but she could guess. No doubt it involved the same reason that had brought Baroness Schräder to their home. The realization was anything but pleasant, sinking her stomach even as she continued with her breakfast._

_Beside her, Brigitta glanced at her sister for a moment. Liesl was hardly ever despondent, yet this morning, it had been her mood entirely. "Is something wrong?" she whispered as the older girl took a drink of water._

_Setting her glass on the linen table cloth, Liesl ran her tongue over her teeth._ Does Brigitta truly need to know everything?_ she asked herself._ Can she even understand? _The innocence shining in her eyes, Liesl decided that as a ten year-old, she could not completely understand what was occurring in the house: the small looks that passed time and again from their father to Fräulein Maria, their father's ignorance of the Baroness, her attempts to draw his attention to her that always failed._ But I have to tell her something, _Liesl thought, her fingers brushing her fork and knife carelessly; her breakfast was no longer appetizing._

_"Liesl?" Brigitta's voice came again. A quick idea formed in Liesl's mind and she brought up her hand, leaning over to her sister to whisper quick words into her ear. The younger girl's eyes widened for a moment, but a smile broke on her face. "That sounds wonderful," she said as she drew back, more pleased the loss of the frown on Liesl's face rather than her sister's idea._

_"What sounds 'wonderful'?" asked Georg, his eyebrows knitted. "And what is so secretive that it cannot be shared with the entire table?" Liesl's cheeks brightened for a moment as she glanced around, seven curious faces awaiting an answer._

_"Father," she said, "may Brigitta and I speak with you in the foyer?" His visage was thoroughly confused at this request. "Please, Father?"_

_"Could we, Father?" In that moment, Brigitta's voice was almost identical to their mother's, and Liesl breathed quicker at the memories it would awaken in their father._

_But he only smiled as he pulled his napkin from his lap. "Of course. Will we be very long?"_

_"I don't think so," Liesl said, sliding her chair back as she and Brigitta stood. Georg stood back, holding out his arm for them to go before him._

_"If you will excuse us," he said, nodding his head to the table: Elsa, Maria, and the other five children. Max, it seemed, had reverted to his Vienna ways, waiting for breakfast until perhaps ten._

_Still at the table, Elsa frowned at the remaining children, a strange sense of nervousness rising in her at the prospect of being nearly alone with them without Georg about to keep them disciplined. No, not nervousness—almost __fear! How could she manage it for the remainder of her life if she could not hold her composure for the time he was speaking with those two girls?_

_Pretending he did not see Louisa leaning back in her chair, peering into the foyer, Georg eyed his two daughters carefully. "Now what is all this about?" he asked. Even in the time of his—distance from them, Georg had never known his children to be secretive. Oh, they had hidden the worst of their tricks on their governesses, the ones that __could be hidden, but anything that might truly be concerning them, he had known._

_"Father," Liesl began, twining her fingers together before her, beginning to knead her hands, "you know we've been perfectly behaved for Fräulein Maria since the night of the thunderstorm, don't you?" Her voice was uncertain._

_"I had assumed so," he said, pacing a few steps along the polished wood floorboards. "Else, I believe she would have long ago returned to the abbey of her own volition." His steps away from his daughters finished, he turned away, muttering a handful of curses beneath his breath. His children and Maria had already done their part, had already forgiven him for his coldness and selfish behavior. Why could he still not forgive himself?_

_"Yes, well," Brigitta said as he returned in his path, "we were hoping..." Her voice faded as she turned to Liesl, unsure of what to say next._

_"We were wondering, Father," her sister said, her words stronger even as her hands belied her nervousness, "if that as an apology to Fräulein Maria, we could go into town today and find her a dress to wear to the party. She sews very well, Father, but nothing that she could truly wear to an event like this."_

_"Yes, I_ know _she sews very well," Georg said, stopping in front of his daughters. "I understand your play clothes have held up like nothing else." Liesl held a beaming smile close at his unrealized compliment. "But I will confess, it sounds as though you two have this already planned out, and that all that remains for me to do is agree."_

_"Do you, Father?" Liesl asked, more nervous that she had expected to be. In spite of what she had told Brigitta and even her father, there was no reason Fräulein Maria would not be perfectly attired in one of the dresses she had sewn herself. She would, perhaps, appear less formal than the other ladies, but still quite lovely. But against Baroness Schräder, Liesl wanted there to be no comparison._

_"Of course," he said, drawing close to them to wrap both in a quick embrace, kissing each girl's forehead before they parted. "If you would like, I shall send you, your sisters, and Fräulein Maria on your way after breakfast."_

_"Thank you, Father," Brigitta said, smiling up at him. Liesl did not trust her tongue to speak steadily, so she simply smiled with her sister, hoping her relief was not too apparent._

_"It is my pleasure, Brigitta," he said, squeezing her shoulder lightly. Gesturing for them to go on before him, they made their way back into the dining room. As his daughters went to their places and he pulled his own chair out from beneath the table, his gaze drifted to Maria, still helping Gretl with her breakfast; the girl had decided that an egg was not enough, and had asked for a sausage as well._ Anything near or about Maria is pleasure, _he thought._

_"After all," he said, taking his seat once more, searching for any words to drive his thoughts out, "I think Friedrich and Kurt can be trusted to keep themselves out of trouble for a few hours." Maria's face came up with that, the knife in her hand scraping across Gretl's plate, missing the sausage she had been cutting._

_"And what do you mean by that, darling?" Elsa asked, her countenance relaxing in spite of the screech of metal on china._

_Dropping his napkin in his lap, Georg laughed. "I understand that Fräulein Maria will be in town for most of the morning, on an errand with my daughters." Reaching for his glass of orange juice, he could easily see Maria's confused face over the edge of the glass._

_"Excuse me, Captain," she said, setting her knife by her plate, moving to rest her freed hand on Gretl's arm to keep her still for a moment, "what errand?"_

_"Yes, Father," Louisa said, her face glowing with excitement rather than Maria's apprehension, "what errand?"_

_"I suppose, Fräulein," Georg said as the glass was settled on the table once more, "that it is now my chance to be vague. I'm afraid it will remain a secret between Liesl, Brigitta, and myself until after breakfast. Then, I'm sure the four of you"—his gaze danced across Maria, Louisa, and the two little girls as he leaned heavily into his chair, amused at the obvious curiosity—"will have had plenty of time to devise all sorts of possibilities."_

_"Please tell us, Father!" Marta said, sliding forward on her chair, dark eyes open and pleading._

_"No," he said, shaking his head as he picked up his own fork to continue eating his eggs, "I'm afraid you will have to wait until after breakfast, Marta. It won't be that much of a trial."_

_"Liesl," Marta said, turning to her oldest sister, "what's going on?"_

_Liesl smiled at the pout spreading across the little girl's face. "Eat your breakfast, Marta," she said, taking a slice of toast covered with strawberry jam from her own plate. "You'll find out soon enough."_

_"That's not fair," Louisa said, tempted to kick the older girl beneath the table again._

_"Then finish your breakfast, Louisa," Georg said, silencing Louisa again with a small glance, "and you'll find out the moment you're all finished."_

_The children resumed their breakfast with renewed vigor, the youngest girls and Louisa flying through what remained of their eggs and sausages. Even as she picked at her own food, Maria could not help but let her gaze wander to the Captain, hoping her confusion was not as apparent as she felt it to be. After a few moments, he glanced to her, letting his words with Elsa fall quiet for a moment. "Is there something you wanted—Fräulein?" He smiled as he had her first night with the family, but now it was pleasant rather than mocking, and she dropped her gaze to her plate as the color she had felt so often in the past few days filled her face once again._

_"I'm sorry, Captain," she said, bringing her face up as her skin calmed, "but I'm still confused as to what errand the girls and I will be doing in town this morning. I really can't think of anything..." Her voice caught in her throat as he filled her sight, whatever that remained in the world about them falling away._ Can this be the same man who insisted on calling his children with a whistle?_ she asked herself._ I can hardly think he is.

_Georg knew that he should look away, give some notice to the small voice he thought he heard calling him, but as the young woman across the table from him sat motionless as well, he could not. "Father?" The voice came again, a strange echo in his head that he was not certain he recognized. She was beautiful—yet beyond that, she was everything he had not been: gentle, loving, joyful..._

_"Please, Father," Marta said, her hand reaching out to grasp the sleeve of his jacket, "can't you tell us yet?" She tugged on the gray fabric once again, and his face turned to hers, utterly calm, an expression she had never in her seven years of life seen him wear. "Father?" He did not even seem to hear her speak, nor feel her pull on his sleeve._

_"I'm sorry, Marta," he said, shaking his head gently, his eyes seeing her at last. "What was it you wanted?"_

_"I'm done with breakfast. Can't you tell us what your secret is yet?" Her lips dipped in a pout as his own turned up in a smile._

_"Well..." he said, letting his gaze drift about the table to the rest of his daughters: Louisa and Gretl sat behind clean plates, the older girl with her arms set across her chest and a glare on her face, and Liesl and Brigitta, eyes shining at the plan for the day, were finishing their last bits of toast. "It seems we're just waiting on Fräulein Maria to finish her breakfast, and then I shall be able to tell you all just what __secret that your sisters and I have planned for you."_

_Maria glanced at her plate, still half covered with a partially eaten egg and sausage, and most of a piece of bread. "I guess I'm just not very hungry this morning, Captain," she said, reaching for her glass of orange juice, draining the last inch or so that stood in the bottom of the glass._

_"Is something the matter, Fräulein?" Georg asked, his eyes now examining rather than lingering. Her face seemed paler than he recalled, and her voice had been silent for most of the meal. "Are you not feeling well?" The thought of her ill—the fear it drew from him dried his throat. At his side, Elsa pursed her lips, for she had never seen the concern that now crossed his face, that particular fear for one greatly loved._ No, _she thought, continuing her breakfast with a slice of dry toast,_ it is not that worrisome. There is still time.

_"No, Captain," Maria said, lifting her napkin from her lap as she reached to take Gretl's hand that was already quivering with the little girl's anticipation. "I did not sleep very well last night." Her dreams had woken her several times in the night, filled with images that turned her stomach even as her heart was elated at their consideration. The memories of them were enough to embarrass her, as though every person at the table, from the Captain to Baroness Schräder to little Gretl, had seen what had passed through her mind in the night._

_"Father," Louisa said, turning from Fräulein Maria, "we're all finished with breakfast now. Why are we going into town today?"_

_"Can't you wait a minute or so longer?" Georg asked, dropping his own napkin on the linen table cloth once more. It had been years since he had teased his children in such a manner, and as Louisa frowned, irritated, he remembered why he had enjoyed it. "Your brothers are still eating."_

_"If we have to wait for Kurt to finish, we'll be here all day," she said, slumping into her chair as she tightened her arms across her chest._

_"What does that mean?" the boy asked, not ashamed at the eggs and toast that still filled his plate. "I'm just eating until I'm full!"_

_"My point."_

_"All right, that's enough," Georg said, not eager for the discussion to transform into an argument. "Since all of the girls are finished, shall we adjourn to the foyer? I'm sure the four of you"—his gaze traveled across the faces of his three curious daughters, but lingered for a time on their governess, not observing Liesl's slight fidgeting—"are eager to hear just what is going on."_

_Maria was almost dragged from her seat by an excited Gretl, forgetting that her governess still clutched her hand. Louisa scrambled from her own chair trying to hide her excitement while Marta slid her chair back and waited for her father to stand and take her hand._

_Liesl and Brigitta were the only girls not about to burst with anticipation as the group walked into the foyer, trying to hold their laughter at the others' curiosity. "Please, Father!" Marta said, tugging on his hand with her small fingers. "Please tell us!"_

_"Please?" Gretl's voice rose with Marta's as Georg found he could no longer hold the mirth that was struggling to spill over into the same laughter that had at last consumed Liesl and Brigitta._

_"If you insist," he said as his chuckles faded, seeing Louisa's indignant scowl. "Though, you must thank Liesl and Brigitta, or be angry with them if the morning is not to your choosing."_

_"I'm sure they will do nothing of the kind, Captain," Maria said, smoothing Gretl's pale brown tresses._

_"One can hope not," he said, his voice dipping low at the sight._ Seeing her with them is so natural, _he thought as Maria continued to work her fingers through a small knot in the girl's hair._ As if they are truly hers. _The idea woke him from his reverie, and he found his voice once more. How could he consider such a thing? "Though, I do believe your_ fräulein _shall enjoy it more than the rest of you." Stooping down to swing Marta into his arms, he bit his lip to hide the groan at her sudden weight in his arms._

_"Why, Father?" she asked, clasping her hands together around his neck to hold herself closer to him as he set her on his hip._

_"Because the six of you are going shopping," he said, turning from Marta to her governess, confusion still filling her face while she now tried to calm Gretl, jumping up and down at the prospect. "I understand that you would like to buy Fräulein Maria a dress to wear to the party."_

_"What?" Maria said, not thinking she had heard his words even as around her, all five girls shared excited grins._

_"You heard correctly, Fräulein," he said, smiling as Marta shifted happily in his grasp. "The children wish to make an apology for their behavior to you at the beginning of your stay with us."_

_"There is no reason, Captain," she stammered, but he shook his head at her protest._

_"Come now, Fräulein," he said, gently setting Marta on the floor, his back aching at the strain of holding her. "Let them indulge you; they have that wish precious little enough for anyone."_

_"I really don't need a dress, Captain, I'll hardly be seen—"_

_"Please, Fräulein Maria," Liesl said, her hands clasped before her just as when the idea had first been presented to her father. "We were rather horrible to you the first evening." A chorus of pleas came from the two youngest girls, Marta running to join Gretl in clutching Maria's hands, her plaintive face turned_ _upwards as well. Neither she nor Gretl had any memory of such a shopping trip, and she was eager for the experience._

_Seeing the hopeful faces on every child, even Louisa, one she would hardly have chosen to enjoy shopping, Maria could only smile. "If that's what you want," she said, stumbling backwards as Gretl wrapped her arms about her waist suddenly. She herself had never been on such an adventure, and as the little girl loosened her grip, Maria glanced down at her, her own heart mirroring the excitement in Gretl's eyes._ You know, _she thought as she peeled the little girl's arms away entirely, it might even be fun...

* * *

_

Liesl slid the zipper of the pale green dress up along the length of Maria's back, quickly reaching up to smooth her governess's tousled hair. "I'm afraid there's not much you can do about that, Liesl," Maria said as she turned to the girl, smiling apologetically.

"It is still mussed from when you took your dress off," the girl offered. "But it's not so bad now." Opening the door from the dressing room to the main floor of the shop, Liesl tried not laugh as Brigitta gestured wildly to Louisa, still entertaining the younger girls with the display of hair ribbons.

Maria stepped through the door first, holding her hands still rather than allowing them to smooth the fabric along her thighs. Even as a child, all her clothes had been sewn by hand, first by her mother, later by herself; this notion of trying on a dress rather than creating one to her own measurements was almost daunting.

"Come this way, Fräulein," Liesl said, taking Maria's hand to lead her to the mirror. Liesl stepped back, allowing Maria to see herself properly in the well lit room. "What do you think?" As much as she wanted to agree with the children's choice, Maria could not hold her questioning gaze at the woman who looked out of the mirror.

"Oh, _really,_ Liesl," Louisa said, frowning with Maria as she led Marta and Gretl to the rest of the group, "what were you thinking? That doesn't look good on her at all. Green with her skin?"

Glancing over her governess, Liesl had to agree; green did not flatter the woman. Cocking her head, Brigitta frowned to herself as she wandered into the display of dresses again, glancing at the different materials and colors. This had been the third one their governess had tried on, and so far, at least one of her sisters had had something disagreeable to say about every one; Louisa had expressed her discontent for all three. Twisting a lock of dark hair around her finger, she began to search through another rack of dresses.

"I _still_ say Fräulein Maria should wear something pink!" Marta said, impatiently swinging her hand that was tightly grasped in Louisa's. They had been in the store far too long for her liking, and her suggestion that their governess try on something in pink had been immediately put aside.

"Marta," Liesl said as Maria turned in front of the mirror, squinting at the reflection of the bright lights, "we said before—no pink."

"But it's Fräulein Maria's favorite color—"

"And it's not something a grown woman would wear to a party," Louisa said, squeezing her sister's hand, drawing her gaze upwards. "But perhaps Father will let _you_ wear pink."

"Will he, Fräulein Maria?" Marta asked, her voice questioning. Turning to glance down at the young girl, Maria nodded.

"Of course, dear," she said, stooping to kiss Marta's forehead. "I'm sure you would look wonderful in a pink dress." The girl giggled as Maria brushed a few wispy strands of dark hair from her forehead.

"Liesl," Brigitta called from the maze of racks in the store, "how about this one?" The younger girl's steps were hurried as she emerged from the collection of clutching another hanger. This hanger held a blue dress, struck with lighter shades on the outer gauzy fabric that lay atop a layer of solid blue.

At her side, Liesl heard Maria sigh and she smiled at the older woman. "Please, Fräulein?" she said, reaching to take the dress from her sister. "Just try one more?" The same resigned sigh came again.

"Very well, Liesl," she said, taking the hanger as she began to walk to the dressing room once more. "But let's make this the last one."

"If it looks good on you, Fräulein," Liesl said, grinning at the exhausted look on her governess's face as the door to the dressing room came open. "Then we'll be finished. But you really must have something to wear."

"I would say from the previous attempts"—Maria gestured to the discarded dresses hanging on a bar bolted to the door that swung closed—"that we may not succeed."

"Don't worry, Fräulein Maria," Liesl said, finding the zipper at the base of Maria's neck, "we'll pick out something before we go."

Maria changed quickly, her hair ending as unruly as before to a shake of Liesl's head. "It's always been that way," she said, stepping back from the girl's attempts to straighten it, "particularly when it was long." Her hands came up absently to touch the thin material that covered the heavier portion of the dress, amazed at its texture; she had never worn anything so fine.

"You still look lovely," Liesl said, settling the green dress on the bar with the other frocks, pulling the door open as she did. Outside, Brigitta tapped Gretl's shoulder, drawing her attention from the intricate beading on a purple dress she was examining. Louisa pulled Marta around as well, and for once, could not think of a remark against the dress that their governess wore.

"That looks beautiful on you, Fräulein," Brigitta said, breathless. At her side, Gretl simply smiled up at Maria in awe, and both Louisa and Marta raised their eyebrows, Louisa still at a lack for words.

"Really?" Maria asked, not sure herself as she glanced down at the flowing material. The dress had looked quite pretty on the hanger, but so had the green dress she had just removed, and the yellow and white dresses before that.

"Oh, yes, Fräulein Maria," Brigitta said as Liesl took Maria's hand, leading her to the same mirror she had left but a few minutes earlier. "Just look at yourself."

Maria's eyes came up to the mirror...and she almost did not recognize the woman she saw in the mirror. That woman appeared pretty, almost sophisticated. _Well, not that,_ she thought, _but more than a girl from a farm who sews her own clothes. But I don't believe that I look this good in _anything. _It doesn't seem possible._

To herself, she laughed at the memory of her first day in the Von Trapp home, wearing that dowdy gray dress that even the poor had rejected. _I would not mind the Captain seeing me in_ _this._ The woman in the mirror shivered, the only reason Maria might have truly believed herself the same person. _What are you thinking,_ she asked herself, spinning before the mirror, hardly hearing Gretl and Marta's delighted squeals. _Why do you think he would care for you?_ Yet the longer she gazed at her reflection, still disbelieving, the more he filled her thoughts—with hopes that he would be pleased, that he would think her as lovely as his daughters.

Liesl and Louisa's declarations that this was the dress hardly reached her ears as her heart raced with the troubling idea. _He's planning to marry Baroness Schräder before the summer is over,_ Maria told herself. _You know that—what are you doing?_ Her eyes casting a glance over her reflection once more, she swallowed harshly at the hope that rose in her again. _You're a postulant, Maria Rainer, you're going to be a nun!_

But the feel of his hand on her cheek, his fingers running in her hair—she wanted to know that sensation, to feel the warmth of him pressed against her, just as she had during the night. Swallowing harshly, she glanced at the woman in the mirror, a woman who might be mistaken as one confident in her desires and the wish for her dreams to come to pass. _What is happening to me?_

**

* * *

Author's Note:** Many thanks to **imnotacommittee** and **Thoroughly Modern Philly **for their input on future events that would have affected this chapter!


	27. Peace and Questions

**Chapter 27: Peace and Questions**

"Georg," Elsa said, leafing through the stack of papers that covered the man's desk, "what do you think about a string quartet for the music? Or would you prefer something larger?" Her face lifted at the silence in the room, finding him by the window. Leaning against the carved paneling of the wall, his eyes were fixed on some point of interest in the garden. Standing quietly, her skirt swished gently as she walked to join him. He hadn't even noticed her presence as she followed his gaze...to the governess.

"Georg," Elsa said, sliding her arm through his, eager to draw him back to her, "you know, I'm really quite ignorant of everything that goes on in Salzburg. Just _where_ do I need to go to find an orchestra for the party?"

"Hmm?" He hadn't heard what she had said, had hardly felt her reaching down to take hold of his fingers. He knew, somewhere in his mind, perhaps even in his heart, that he should try to form in words the changes that had overcome him in the past few days—tell Elsa that what had been between them in Vienna had changed, but another part of him whispered that it was not yet time. _Not until you are sure of anything beyond that._

"Oh, really, Georg," she said, slapping his shoulder lightly with her free hand, "you mustn't make it to so apparent that my company bores you. What will all your friends think?"

"Nothing on you," he said, turning from the window to hold her eyes for a moment. She really was quite lovely, and as always, impeccably dressed, this morning in a perfectly tailored blue silk blouse, tucked in at her waist to a skirt a darker shade of the same color that just brushed the wooden floor of his study. "They'll just be reassured that I'm hardly what I used to be."

"You must learn to stop putting yourself down, darling," she said, offering him the same smile she had every evening they had spent together in Vienna. There it had drawn a pleasant expression across his visage, but here in his home it brought her nothing.

"I don't know if you would recognize me if I did," he said, squeezing her fingers gently. Hearing her quiet laugh, his gaze drifted out the window once more. Most of his children were running about in the afternoon sunshine, apparently enjoying a game of tag; Kurt and Friedrich had been at a loss for what to do while their governess and sisters were in town, and so had played a game of catch in the garden as they waited for their return. The moment Louisa had been within his reach, Friedrich had slapped her across the back and declared her "It," hardly making it a few steps before she had caught his arm and was off in the opposite direction, laughing at his pursuit. Now, Kurt was the chaser, running after Brigitta and almost catching her now and then, his fingers even grazing the flowing length of her dark hair, but he was always defeated as she found an extra sprint to leave him behind.

Or perhaps it was a team effort, as now he caught a glimpse of Friedrich running after Louisa again, and making a much better show of it than Kurt, though still outrun. Marta was giggling in the center of the chaos about her as her brothers chased her older sisters, content to be ignored, and Liesl was sitting beneath the shade of a tall, leafy tree, turning the pages of a large book. As she threaded a strand of shoulder length hair behind her ear, he was struck by the resemblance to her mother in that instant. More often, Liesl resembled Agathe in her expressions and a few of her mannerisms, but for the moment, she might have been mistaken for the woman. _Or Brigitta, for that matter,_ he added wryly.

His eyes continuing to glance over his children, he found Gretl seated in the grass beside her _fräulein_, fumbling as she tried to weave a small crown of wildflowers with her clumsy fingers. Each had the tiny blossoms of Edelweiss threaded in her hair and the glow of too much sun on her cheeks. The girl leaned over to whisper something in her _fräulein's_ ear, and Maria laughed, dropping her knotted flowers to tickle Gretl, both soon dissolving into fits of giggles as they collapsed into the fragrant grass.

"...must speak to Cook about finding a good caterer," Elsa said, her words crashing into his mind as she laid her head on his shoulder. Turning to her at the unexpected contact, his face brushed her impeccably arranged hair, layered with a pomade that filled his nose with an overpowering scent of flowers.

"What was that, Elsa?" he asked, feeling her sigh against him as she straightened to fix him with her gaze, leaving her fingers tangled in his own.

"I would hate to put any of your household into a frenzy," she said, hoping her irritation at repeating herself was not so apparent, "and so I really must speak to your cook about a caterer for the party." She had never known Georg to be to absent-minded, yet he had become so in the past few days, gazing aimlessly at nothing, not hearing what others said. Whenever he allowed his thoughts to drift, always his eyes found the governess—and always his gaze was filled with a tenderness she had never seen in him, not until her third day in Salzburg. That morning, the changes that had been slowly eroding the chill within the house had suddenly come to a head—and the man she had known in Vienna had vanished.

"Oh," he said, loosening his grip on her hand. In the light of the afternoon, the traces of powder on her face were obvious, camouflaging the tiny creases in her skin about her eyes and lips. He knew Elsa to be but a few years younger than himself, just passing the middle of her thirties, but the extent to which she hid the realities that came with that age astonished even him. She was not a vain woman, but she prided her appearance above many things. Yet even with the wrinkles, the tiny flecks of gray just beginning to tint her hair—even with all those features to grace her appearance, flaws though she would name them, she would be lovelier as herself, rather the creature bearing this façade of created beauty.

"Really, Georg," she said, letting her hand fall from holding his as she stepped away from him, "you must try to give some appearance of caring for what happens at this party. What will all your guests say if you are so distant two weeks from now?"

"Oh, merely that I have become lost in my memories once more," he said, his breathing easier as she crossed the room to take her seat at his desk once more. Could it be right to feel so relieved by her absence? He had brought her here to ask her to be his wife, to become a mother to his children...His eyes on the garden once more, he saw with a smile that Liesl had abandoned her book to chase Marta, allowing the girl to race from her for a few moments before rushing forward to seize her about the waist and drag her down in a laughing embrace.

Maria and Gretl, their donned wildflower crowns mixing with the free buds of Edelweiss in their hair, had joined the game as he had conversed with Elsa, and now Maria chased Brigitta and Louisa. She was on their heels and with a quick sprint captured them both. They were just as quick, though, almost catching her when she twisted on her heel and gave a shout as she dodged their hands. That mischievous look he had last seen any of his children wear the night Maria had sat on that pine cone at the dinner table passed between the two girls as Louisa began to chase Friedrich and Brigitta circled about to catch him where Louisa would force him. _Friedrich is no strategist,_ he thought, blinking as a ray of sunshine flared in his eyes. But those girls—they were clever.

He did not know when he had last seen them so happy. Perhaps those few days previous, that morning that everything had changed, but before that—he had not seen them so openly elated in all the years since Agathe's death. _Do Liesl and Brigitta know how very much they resemble her?_ he asked himself, bracing his hand against the wooden frame of the window. Liesl might remember her mother's face, but Brigitta could only know her from photographs.

"Fräulein Maria!" he heard Gretl call, the young woman slowing at her voice. Behind her, Louisa and Brigitta shouted in disappointment as Friedrich dashed around the second girl, running to join Kurt on the opposite side of the garden.

"Yes?" Maria said, bending to rest for a moment as she clutched at a stitch in her chest. _Where do they find so much energy? _she wondered as her lungs still heaved for air. Glancing around, assured that the girls had not brought their brother to any injury in their frustration, she let her head hang for a moment, closing her eyes as a quick ache filled her skull.

"Fräulein Maria, it's too hot to do this anymore," Gretl said, crossing her arms on her chest and setting her lips in a determined frown as her governess's face came up once more. "Can we do something that's cool?"

"Don't tell me you're tired already, Gretl," Maria said, straightening as her breaths came easier. Reaching for Gretl's forehead, she brushed a few strands of the girl's short fringe aside, squinting at the pounding in her head. "The afternoon's hardly begun."

"I'm not tired," she said, her mouth betraying her in a yawn even as she spoke. "I'm just _hot!_" Maria smiled and opened her arms to the little girl, who needed no more invitation to run into the embrace. Balancing herself carefully, she lifted Gretl in her arms, settling the girl's weight on her hip quickly.

"Really?" she said, her tone questioning as the breath of another yawn from the girl warmed her neck, the child's head resting heavily on her shoulder.

"Really!" Even as her word was adamant, Maria felt Gretl's body relaxing in her arms, the rise and fall of her chest slowing as she drifted into sleep. Shifting the child against her body, Maria turned to find the other children, Louisa still chasing Friedrich, her hair flying free from her kerchief in the breeze filling the garden. Liesl was no longer tickling Marta but was leaning against the tree again, the younger girl at her side, asleep in the crook of her sister's arm as Liesl continued to read. Brigitta had collapsed near the flowerbeds beneath the Captain's study, shifting the blooms aside aimlessly, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon. Kurt had grown tired of the game, and so had made his way up one of the many trees in the garden, now hanging from his legs.

Letting his head rest against his hand, Georg smiled at the peace so visible in every one of his children...and their governess. That peace was something that even while Agathe had been alive he had been unable to give to his children; it was only from her that they would have it. And now, Maria could offer it to them just as well.

_She is as dear to them as their mother would be,_ he thought, that same calm flooding over him as Maria laid Gretl beside Liesl before sitting to join her in the shade. _And what of you?_ The question filled his mind before he could silence it, and his heart pounded at the implication, a touch of the same color that now so often filled Maria's face coming across his own.

_Good God, man,_ he thought, straightening instantly, turning his gaze in to his study, _she's the governess you have for your children—and a postulant as well. She can hardly be into her twenties, and you...A middle-aged widower with nothing but troubles to offer her! What are you thinking?_

Stepping back from the window, he saw Elsa's head rise with the approaching clicks of his footsteps on the wooden floor. "Now, Georg," she said, a small smile on her face as he drew nearer to her, "you really must tell me what you think about a string quartet."

"Oh, whatever you wish, darling," he said, pulling out the chair before his desk. "This is for you." Taking his seat, he smiled, hoping it appeared more genuine than it felt, for it was not in his heart.

Even now, even here, the preparation of her face was apparent—the light blush across her cheeks, the delicate darkening of her eyebrows. She was beautiful, yet more than her beauty had drawn him to her the year before. Seeing her kindness and understanding, he had gravitated towards her as though he needed her, and in that moment, he _had_. But now...When she crossed his mind, he felt nothing in the way of love, only a friendly affection for her as he had felt for Agathe's sisters and companions. He simply could not find the love that had drawn him to his wife so many years ago, that love he had so recently discovered for his children.

Yet everyday, he felt that love rushing in his blood and mind. _The children,_ he began, but as his face turned over his shoulder to the window once more, he knew that assertion to be a lie. It was not his children that forced his heart to pound violently, his palms to sweat, and his breathing to cease. Everything that Agathe's gaze had once done to him, _hers_ now did, and she did so without a thought, he knew, carrying him away in her eyes.

Shaking his head, Georg sat straighter in the chair, reaching across for Elsa's hand. Her grasp, cool despite the heat of the afternoon, her pleased face—they would hold him, keep him from turning to _her_. Maria.

"...tell Max that he will have to be charming," Elsa was saying, her free hand shifting through one of the many pages scattered across his desk, "though I'm not sure he'll be able to manage such an act, Georg. Don't you agree, darling..."

_How can you even consider that? _he asked himself, not feeling Elsa's fingers squeezing his own, her words buried beneath his thoughts. _How can you believe you are anything to her? You are her employer—nothing more._

Turning his eyes to Elsa, he sighed as her words filled his ears once more. After all these years, he had forgotten the details that went into planning an event of this magnitude. Rubbing his eyes with his hand, Georg knew he did not wish to be here; he wished to be outside with his children, with the woman that he— His heart pounded at the word he silenced, and he swallowed harshly. _Ask Maria for her friendship, you fool—it's all you can hope for. And more than you deserve._


	28. A Sunday Morning

**Chapter 28: A Sunday Morning**

"Come along, children!" Maria called, opening the door to the elder girls' room. "It's time to get up!" Within the bedroom, already flooded with morning light, Liesl turned in her bed, craning her neck upwards to catch a glance at her clock with bleary eyes.

"But it's hardly past seven, Fräulein," she said, her voice scratchy. "It can't be time _yet_." Across the room, Louisa shifted beneath her quilt, throwing her arm over her head and pillow. Glancing to her governess, Liesl was surprised to see it was not one of those she wore typically, but the final dress she had made, one rather refined. _For Maria, that is,_ Liesl thought, propping herself on her elbows. On any other woman, the simple frock of dark red fabric would seem rather plain.

"It is," Maria said, stepping into the room and pulling the door closed behind her. "You're all to be up and well dressed by eight, down in the dining room for breakfast." Brigitta had yet to stir, so Maria crossed the room to the girl's bed, throwing the quilt and sheet back from the girl's body. Stripped of their warmth, the young girl woke suddenly, her eyes opening wide at the sight of her governess.

"Downstairs by eight," she said to Brigitta with a smile, running her hand along the mussed braid hanging over the girl's shoulder. She could remember the time years ago when her own hair had been so wild, and the mess it had often made for her in the morning.

"Why so early?" she asked as she sat up, letting her feet hang over the edge of her bed, still not quite tall enough that they brushed the floor.

"At eight, you'll know," Maria said, straightening and stepping away from the child whose eyes were puzzled, but sparkling with curiosity. "You'd best get a move on." Walking back to the door, she turned to the three girls one last time, assured that all were at least making progress on their morning routine. "I think you might rather like this morning," she said quietly, to none of the girls in particular. Smiling to herself, she left the room, drawing the door closed before she went to wake Friedrich and Kurt.

The handle of the door clicking as it completed its swing, Louisa tugged her quilt over her head, drawing her legs closer to her body to hold in the warmth of her sleep. "Get up, Louisa," Liesl said, setting her feet on the carpeted floor as her arms rose in a stretch. Her sister groaned underneath the layers, but did not emerge. Biting her lip, Liesl seized her pillow and launched it toward the younger girl, laughing when Louisa yelped at the unexpected impact. Sliding her head from beneath the quilt, she frowned as her body nudged the pillow on to the floor.

"I don't understand what's going on," the girl grumbled, sitting up beneath the layers atop her body. "We've never had to be up so early on a Sunday."

"Of course we have," Liesl said, throwing her quilt over her mattress. "You just don't remember it very well. It was before Mother died."

"It seems that there was _everything_ before Mother died, and there was nothing after," Louisa said, blinking at the glaring sun in her eyes as she laid her head on her knees, the last feathery memories of sleep still in her mind. "Even Father."

"But he's not the same anymore," Brigitta said, sliding from her bed to stand at last. "You know that Father has changed. He's almost the way he was with Mother."

"He wouldn't have changed if he was left on his own," Louisa said, tossing her quilt and sheets aside, but not willing to leave the comfort of her bed just yet. She peered over the edge of the bed to the carpet disdainfully. "If it hadn't been for Fräulein Maria, he would rather have kept things the way they were."

"They almost were," Liesl said to herself, crossing the room to the bathroom. She could feel the tiredness that would still be evident in her face.

"But they _aren't_," Brigitta said. She raised one of her arms to catch the end of her braid, threading her fingers through the twined strands of hair to work it out as she chewed her lip in thought. "Father is so much happier now, with Fräulein Maria back. He smiles more than he has in years."

Louisa, one foot finally planted on the carpeted floor, started at her sister's words, wavering from side to side as she fought to hold her balance. Her fingers caught a handful of her quilt, but she fell nevertheless with a loud thump as she landed on the floor, taking most of the quilt with her as she missed Liesl's pillow. "Ow," she moaned, rubbing the lower part of her back that had hit the hardest. She threw the pillow back towards Liesl's bed, twisting on the floor as it landed a half meter short of the bed frame.

"Are you all right?" Liesl asked, turning to her sister from the bathroom, her hand about to switch on the light.

"I'm fine," the girl said, standing with a frown that turned to a wince at a small ache. "But 'Gitta needs to watch what she says for once—I don't think Baroness Schräder would like at all to hear what she thinks about Father and Fräulein Maria."

"What do you mean?" the younger girl asked as her hands traveled up her braid, pulling each thick strand of hair free. All the looks that had passed between their father and Fräulein Maria—they could hardly be ignored, and only missed by a blind person, or one determined not to see them. Brigitta knew what she hoped for—but hope had betrayed her long ago, and she no longer trusted it.

"You're not stupid, 'Gitta," Louisa said, still rubbing her back, "so don't pretend you are. You know there's something between them." She bent to toss her quilt on to her bed.

"All I know is what I've seen," Brigitta said, tossing her loosened tresses over her shoulder. If they had seen it, too, then perhaps what she caught in fits and starts between their governess and father was not her hope and imagination, but a possibility. "And I'm not sure I entirely understand it—"

"I think for an explanation, we would have to go Liesl," Louisa said. She smiled at her older sister, rewarded by one of Liesl's rare scowls. "Since she seems to be the only one in this room who knows what love is."

"Be quiet," Liesl snapped, turning on the light to the bathroom. "Maybe you should think about getting ready, instead of stripping your sheets!" As she pulled the door shut behind her, slamming it irritably, Louisa grinned. Aggravating Liesl was one of her personal pleasures in life—it was nearly as much fun as proving Friedrich wrong. Her eyes landing on the clock atop her bedside table, the smile vanished at the time.

* * *

"Ah, good morning," Georg said as his three eldest daughters traipsed into the room, all eyes still puffy with the remnants of sleep despite scrubbings with cold water. The other four children were already seated and eating quickly, all as finely clothed in their suits and dresses as Liesl, Louisa, and Brigitta. Fräulein Maria and their father were also properly dressed, and both were wide awake despite the early hour. "We were about to draws straws to see who should go fetch you." Louisa wrinkled her nose as her brothers laughed, though the other two smiled as they took their seats at the table. 

Much of the breakfast food was already gone, but the remnants of potato pancakes and fried eggs lingered, soon covering the girls' plates and just as quickly vanishing through their teeth. Pausing in her eating to take a sip of milk, Brigitta sat straighter as she remembered her question to Maria. "Father," she said as she settled her glass on the table cloth once more, "what are we doing this morning?"

"That question has already been asked four times," Georg said, setting his fork across his plate as he finished his final pancake and leaned heavily into his chair, the curious expressions flooding over every child again. "Well, eight times: one time each by your brothers and sisters to both myself and your _fräulein_."

"Then please tell us where we are going, Father," Kurt said, cutting a large slice of egg with his fork. "We won't ask if you tell us!" He swallowed his bit of egg uncomfortably, his tie drawn too tightly about his neck for his liking.

"Really, children," Maria said, glancing down the table from examining Gretl's face. She rubbed at a small speck of dirt she had not seen when she bathed the youngest girls. "I'm surprised not a one of you has guessed yet—up so early on a Sunday morning, dressed so well..." Her voice trailed her gaze reached the opposite end of the table, where the Captain was seated by himself; Baroness Schräder had not risen yet, and in truth, neither had Max, who, when he was about at mealtimes to enjoy the cuisine he so praised, sat by her side.

He appeared exceptional to her eyes this morning. The Captain was always well dressed, but something beyond his attire was different—some portion that _was_ him had changed from the evening before. His expression was darker, but a bit of understanding filled that darkness.

Maria blinked quickly as she realized she had been staring, turning her eyes to Liesl as her cheeks reddened with her thoughts. "And you, Liesl," she said, searching for a phrase to fill the silence as every child held her with a curious expression, "I would have thought that among all the children, you would have made such a guess."

"Me?" As she reached for her glass of juice, Liesl cast her memory around. Why would she be able to guess where they were going? Surely it was a place she had been before—a place _all_ of them had been before—and no doubt before her mother had died. _What did Mother always do on Sunday mornings? _she asked herself, setting her glass on the table once more and pursing her lips. _She always insisted we go to church..._

Her eyes widened as she turned to her father, smiling at her confused face. "Father," she said lowly, not glancing to her governess, "are we going to church today?" Across the table, she could see memories rising in Louisa and Friedrich; the rest of her brothers and sisters might be able to recall ever going. Marta and Gretl surely could not.

"Yes, Liesl," Georg said, sliding his chair back to apprise every one of his children. The older ones seemed unaffected by the day's plan, Louisa continuing on her egg with hardly a blink, but the youngest girls, even Brigitta—they were obviously wondering what Mass entailed.

"Have we ever been there, Father?" Gretl asked, pulling her face from Maria's grasp. Her governess laughed as she reached for the girl's chin again, and Georg could not manage even the sad smile he had found so often of late—amusement at his own foolishness. How many children raised in such a family as his had once been could be compelled to ask such a question?

"Of course you have, Gretl," he said, his voice tight. "You were baptized there, as all your siblings were. We simply have not been for quite some time."

_Four years, you damn fool! Why do you even pretend that the world does not know why it has been those four years? Everyone knows. Even the oldest of your children understand that much._

"Was I, Fräulein Maria?" Gretl's quiet voice broke in his thoughts, as Maria's calming laugh warmed him. The child was fascinated by the idea of her baptism, accomplished a few weeks after her birth, her eyes wide open and shining.

"If your father says so, I'm sure you were, Gretl," she said, and Georg felt his mouth twitch to a smile beneath his hand, covering his mouth to hold back the string of oaths he wished to shout at himself, as the woman kissed the young girl's forehead. _Why is she so kind? And not merely to your children, but to you?_ Glancing to his watch, he tapped his fingers on the table. It was more than a quarter past eight; with seven children, it might take until the beginning of Mass at nine to load the car.

"Father," Brigitta said, letting her silverware fall to either side of her plate, her egg and potato pancake finished, "why haven't— Ow!" Her right hand flew beneath the table as she winced, and across from her, Friedrich's face was entirely blank, lacking even the reaction to her pain that was obvious on the others. Her eyes narrowed at him.

"Friedrich." Maria's reprimanding voice had sounded before Georg could even form a response. He knew what the girl had wanted to ask, for surely it was on Marta and Gretl's minds, perhaps even Kurt's.

_And Maria's._ That thought burned stronger than the others as her words to Friedrich faded. _She can have no idea,_ he knew as he stood from his seat, his own voice speaking, saying that the time had come to depart. _No idea what you said._ His children chattering as they stood, the younger children entering the foyer with skittering, excited steps, Georg rubbed the bridge of his nose, the newly familiar pain sitting squarely within his face beside his burning eyes. _A damn fool!_

"Captain?" Maria's quiet voice drew him back, and he turned to her, still standing by the door to the dining room, Marta and Gretl's hands clasped tightly in her own. "Is something wrong?" He drew a shuddering breath as his gaze turned to his older children, already by the front door—and Louisa's face filled his vision, her stumbling words spoken so long ago. _Our Father, who art in heaven..._

"Captain?" She spoke again, and he started at the word, those in his mind fading to silence.

"I'm sorry, Fräulein," he said quietly, unable to meet her eyes. His face ached, finding that regretful smile now so familiar to his face. Her own smile, though, was beautiful. _How could you never see that before? _"Just a few memories."


	29. The Way Back

**Chapter 29: The Way Back**

As the roar of voices of the attendants of the newly ended Mass filled the cathedral, Georg had to smile. At the age of Marta and Gretl, he had been loath to sit through the hour service, as had all of his children. But the two girls had kept still for the most part, their legs swinging as their feet dangled from the wooden pew. Their faces had been everywhere, taking in the icons along the walls, the candles flanking the priest as he stood and offered the final benediction. Most of the children, all but the eldest, had stumbled through their responses to each of the priest's words—and Marta and Gretl had merely listened, having never learned what to say at all.

_Because of your weakness,_ he thought as he stood with his children and Maria, all beginning to chatter, eager to simply fill the air with sound. He shook his head as he edged his way from the pew; Liesl, who had sat by his side, tugged on Gretl's hand, drawing her into the aisle as well. The rest of the children filed out behind her, Maria bringing up the rear of the column behind Brigitta.

Letting them go on before him, Georg's eyes ventured to the door of the cathedral—and Father Simon, blessing those who passed through the doors. "_The Lord has a plan for every member of his flock."_ Father Simon had spoken those words but a few years before, and he had refused to believe them, almost refused to merely hear them!

The crowd had thinned as the children and Maria walked to the door, and Liesl glanced back to her father, still standing by their pew. "Father?" she called, holding Gretl to her side. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Liesl," he said, his feet moving at last. _You know what you must do—why are you so fearful of it?_ At his voice, Maria turned, her halt stopping the children that stood between herself and Liesl. "You go on ahead," he said, forcing a smile as the remnants of the parish filtered past the priest. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Captain," Maria began, but he shook his head, holding his expression.

"Just a few minutes," he said again, now waving her on. Reaching for Brigitta's hand to pull her along, Maria nodded, even as her eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Come along, children," she said, drawing Liesl and Friedrich from their father, indicating for them to follow her.

"Fräulein Maria," Marta said, trotting ahead of Louisa, whom she had sat beside during Mass, to take Maria's free hand, "what is Father doing?"

Turning her head over her shoulder as she dropped Brigitta's grasp, Maria frowned. The Captain had perched himself on a pew a few rows behind where they had sat for Mass, and his head was bowed atop his hunched shoulders. "I don't know, Marta," she said, twisting back to hold the younger girl's gaze. "I think we should let him his privacy."

"Oh," the girl said, not happy with the answer, but not protesting.

"How did you enjoy the service, Marta?" Maria asked, eager to draw the little girl's mind away from her father, if only for a moment. Her own thoughts lingered with him, though, with the sadness filling his face. It weighed on him this morning, seated heavily on his frame, determined to hold him—

"It was long," Marta said, swinging her arm back and forth as far as Maria's grip allowed, drawing her governess's mind to her. "What was everyone saying?"

"Prayers. I'm sure you'll learn them eventually," Maria said as they passed through the door into the morning sunshine. She smiled briefly at the priest, whose eyes opened wide at the children following her, speaking of confusion—or perhaps surprise. "It won't be that hard, as I'm sure you'll have plenty of help. Your brothers and sisters learned them all long ago—you saw how easily Liesl, Friedrich, and even Louisa could answer the priest."

"What language was that?" Marta asked, cautiously taking each of the steps from the raised entrance of the cathedral. Her pink dress rippled in the cool breeze that brushed through her dark hair; the air in the church had been too stuffy for her liking. "I couldn't understand it."

"That was Latin," Maria said as they reached the street level, turning to count the other six children as she reached up to shield her eyes from the sun glaring over the spires of the cathedral. "Mass has been conducted in Latin for hundreds of years, Marta, even though the language isn't really spoken any longer."

"Why do they still use it, then?"

Maria smiled as the other children joined them, Liesl still leading Gretl by the hand. The youngest girl continued to gaze everywhere, at the stained glass windows, the delicate statuary that adorned the highest peaks of the towers of the cathedral, the innumerable women and men still loitering about the portal. "Sometimes, people just appreciate maintaining their traditions. In the abbey—"

"My goodness," a loud voice said, and Maria raised her head to see an older woman, clad in a heavy blue dress, graying hair curling about her shoulders standing on the walk bordering the street. Her eyes were running across the children, lingering on Liesl and Friedrich before returning to Maria. "Seven children—you must have been hardly more than a child yourself when the first of them was born. Are they all yours?"

Maria's entire face darkened to crimson even as Louisa and Brigitta shared a choked giggle, and just as she had so often in the past few days, Maria was filled with relief that the Captain was nowhere in sight. "Um, no," she said quietly, resting her hand on Marta's shoulder even as she spoke. "I am their governess."

"Oh." The woman dropped her face, coloring as swiftly as Maria's. "I do hope you will forgive me, I merely assumed..."

"There is nothing to forgive," Maria said, shaking her head as her heart slowed. It had raced at the thought of being the mother to the seven wonderful children that surrounded her—and the entirety of what that entailed.

"May I ask whose children they are?" The older woman's mouth smiled sweetly at the children, all of whom regarded her as they had Maria on her first day with them, Louisa's eyebrows rising. "I have never seen such a large family at morning Mass."

Pulling Marta closer to her, Maria said, "These are the children of Captain von Trapp." A quiet pride filled each child, and Marta pressed herself to her governess, smiling up at Maria. The love each of them held for their father was visible now, almost radiant that it could be displayed without a reprimand.

The inquisitor, though, did not notice the children's happiness at the mention of their father. "Von Trapp?" the woman repeated, her smile fading as her eyes widened. "How long have you been there, my dear?"

"A few weeks. Why?" Though she tried to draw herself away, the woman's fingers wrapped about Maria's wrist, pulling her from Marta and the other children. "What is it?" Maria asked as the woman stopped walking a few meters from the children. She couldn't understand what care this woman could have for her and the children; she didn't even know the woman's name.

"I wish you luck in surviving them," the woman said, her nose wrinkling as she turned her gaze to the children, the youngest not hiding their curious glances to their governess and this stranger. "They're legendary for getting rid of their governesses. Even the little ones."

"Thank you for your concern," Maria said as her expression darkened, twisting her wrist from the woman's grasp. "However, I'm not sure I _need_ it—I was already fired once."

"Pray, then, how did you come to be their governess once more? I understand the Captain is many things, among them final and firm in his decisions." This strange woman's eyebrows furrowed together, and Maria could not read the expression covering her visage. It seemed almost an accusation. "He hardly seems one to change such a decision if he lacked an important reason."

Backing from the woman, Maria wiped her warm palm on the skirt of her red dress. "I don't believe that's any of your business," she said, offering her hand to Marta, still standing behind her with wide eyes. The young girl's fingers were welcome in her grasp—comforting and cool. Letting her attention fall on to all her charges, she smiled tightly, feeling a flash of anger in her face. "Come along, children. We'll wait for your father by the car."

The children still eyed this woman strangely as they walked past her, her gaze following them even as they strode along the street. Beneath the examining eyes, unease churned in Maria's stomach, and in spite of what she had told Marta, she wanted nothing more than to find the Captain. _What on earth did she mean?_ Maria asked herself, hardly feeling Marta's swinging arm once more. _It sounded as though I had done something wrong!_

Turning her face over her shoulder once more, Maria sighed, for the Captain was not among those standing before the entrance of the Cathedral. In his presence, even as her heart would flutter and her breaths would quicken, Maria knew that she was safe; she hoped he would not be much longer.

* * *

How did one begin the conversation he needed, Georg wondered. How did one apologize for such abysmal foolishness and horrid selfishness? How did one ask forgiveness of God for abandoning Him when all He had ever thought to offer was comfort? His chin resting on his folded hands, he allowed his eyes to fall closed. _Not with ease, Georg,_ he thought, _for only a fool has need to do such a thing!_

A deafening silence filled the cathedral, only lightly encroached upon by the distant voices of parishioners chatting at the entrance. A month ago, the quiet would have calmed his fears of what he must do, but now it only drew out a greater terror. All because of her, he knew. Without her, everything would have continued on as it was, destroying his children, his family—himself. Rubbing his thumbs against the bridge of his nose, he bit his lip to hold in the curses boiling on his tongue.

A few muted footsteps echoed in the now deserted church, and he sat straight, turning his head over his shoulder toward the direction of the steps. Still in the vestments of his office, Father Simon smiled gently as he came nearer Georg. "I had not anticipated seeing you within these walls again, Captain von Trapp," he said, coming nearer to the man, his hands gesturing upwards vaguely.

"Neither did I," Georg said, leaning back against the wooden pew, letting a sigh from his lips. The completion that had filled him in the length of the service—through that joy, the emptiness of the past four years ached desperately, more pointedly than he had thought anything could after her death. But it was not merely returning to the presence of God that had created that elation, but the presence of family, of a _whole_ family rather than the remnants.

"May I ask what brought you back?" Father Simon asked, taking a seat in the pew before the Captain.

Georg had to hold back that same despairing smile that he could not hide earlier that morning. "One who has more wisdom than I. Infinitely more." _That's hardly true—you _have _no wisdom, with what you have done!_

"The young lady with your children?" the priest asked, and Georg glanced to the back of the church again, to the door open on the bright Sunday morning. He had said he would be only a few minutes, and those few had passed already. _Begin already!_

"I did not know you recognized them," Georg said, those hardly contained oaths filling his mind. "It has been the same four years since they set foot in this church."

"Perhaps," the priest said, nodding his head in concession, his dark eyes amused, "but there are few families in Salzburg with so many children that are so well behaved."

"You might not think them so well behaved if you had seen them a few days ago," Georg said, a chuckle rising from his chest. "Or for the past few years, Father. Clever and conniving, perhaps, but hardly well behaved."

"Any family with children so young that can keep them quiet through an hour long Mass must have some discipline," Father Simon said. "Many have trouble keeping silence with ten year olds. But what of this woman? Your children seemed quite fond of her."

"Ah, yes," Georg said, searching for words to fill the awkwardness that would fill the air if silence fell between them. Yet what would be its cause—the memories between himself and the priest, or his thoughts of Maria? He could not be certain. "She is their governess. You might have met her before today; she is a postulant at Nonnberg Abbey."

"What is her name?"

"Maria Rainer." A warmth filled Georg at simply speaking her name, not bothering with the address of 'Fräulein,' with expounding further upon her position in his household. When she was simply herself...she was more delightful than any person he thought he had ever met.

"Ah," Father Simon said, propping his elbow on the pew. "From what I have heard from the Reverend Mother of the abbey, she can be quite a handful. She tries her best to act as a nun, but..." His voice trailed as the Captain smiled, remembering her words the first day he had met her.

"Yes," Georg said, memories of a week beyond those words rising. "She managed to overturn a boat and soak my children in the lake, and yet I still believe that she was far more trouble at the abbey than she will ever be in my home." Those children dragging themselves from the lake, bedraggled, wet, reeking of the stench of the water, and yet smiling through it all—God, how had he not seen then?

_Georg, why do you delay? _he asked himself as his gaze dropped, his fingers fidgeting, tapping swiftly along his legs. _Just speak, and be done with it. If you do not begin now, you never will._ "Father," he managed, his mouth dry as he brought his hands together, imprisoning his digits, "may I ask a favor of you?"

"Of course, Captain," the priest said, sitting straighter and brushing a few strands of dark, graying hair from his face.

"Father"—Georg's eyes rose to the priest's, a desperation shining in their blue depths—"will you hear my confession?"


	30. Drawing Near

**Chapter 30: Drawing Near**

As a cool wind whistled in the trees, the field of stars sparkling in the sky gazed at its reflection upon the rippling surface of the lake behind the villa. The air from above the water was a welcome breath on Maria's face, sweating in the sudden warmth of the night. Many of the children were certainly tossing and turning in their beds, trying to find a comfortable position in the sticky heat, and a part of her wished she might go and fetch them, bring them out into the night. Skimming across the water, the humid air lost most of its bite.

Resting her elbows on the stone railing about the veranda, Maria sighed, rolling up the sleeves of her red dress yet again. In the morning, it had been the perfect frock for the day, almost too light in the chill of the church, but now the fabric was heavy and coarse against her skin, nearly itchy as wool. One of these days, she would remember to put a ball of twine in her pocket wherever she went to hold back her sleeves. It might not appear refined, but it would be less irritating than sliding the sleeves up time and again.

A pale patch of light pooled on the grass beyond the veranda, and Maria turned her face upwards; it came from the elder girls' room. _Brigitta,_ she thought wryly. _No doubt trying to read herself to sleep._

To think that she had protested when the Reverend Mother had first spoken of a family in need of a governess for seven children! She treasured every moment she had spent with those children—the night of the thunderstorm, their first picnic on the Untersberg, teaching them to sing, even their tumbling into the lake. The last had taken her from them for two days, yet in the end it had surely been worthwhile. They had their father once more; they could offer him their love, and in return receive that which he could at last give. She smiled as the breeze slipped through her short hair. _They are a family once more._ To have such a loving family...she ached with a longing, a desire to know that intimacy.

"I see I am not the only one enjoying the night air," a quiet voice said, and Maria jerked to stand straight, praying the night hid the sudden flush of her cheeks.

"Good evening, Captain," she said, tensing with each of his measured steps, wondering at the knots in her stomach growing with each one. His profile came into her view as he leaned on the stone rail just as she had. Bathed by the moonlight peeking through the scattered clouds, every one of his strong features was easily visible—yet it was his eyes she longed to see, for they always spoke his mind, even when his words fell silent. Blinking harshly, she turned away, to the lake once more.

"I would hardly call it 'good,'" Georg said, clasping his hands together. "It hardly seems possible to take any rest."

"Yes," Maria said, laughing as she turned to glance at the girls' window again. "I believe Brigitta would agree."

"Oh, I doubt that is Brigitta," Georg said, following her gaze to the lit window along the row of the children's rooms. "After Mass this morning, she could not find her copy of The Mysterious Island, and if there is one thing she can't stand—"

"Other than the pages of books glued together?" Maria asked, the memory of the girl's horror filling her mind swiftly.

Georg chuckled lowly as an image of his daughter's anger rose before his eyes. "Well, other than _that_...She can stand neither to leave a book unfinished nor read two books at once. I'm afraid she will be searching the house until she finds it."

"I believe she may want to examine Friedrich and Kurt's room."

Georg could not hold his laughter quiet, and it boomed from his chest, falling over Maria like a warmth, comforting rather than the oppressive heat of the evening. "Perhaps...Fräulein." Her name he had spoken with such ease in the morning; why could he not do the same now?

Maria turned to let her back rest against the cool stone, redness creeping across her face. _It's the heat,_ she said to herself. _The heat, and nothing more._ Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, she wished again for that ball of twine. "Thank you, Captain," she said quietly, not seeing his face snap to hers.

"For what?" he asked. In the dimness of the night, she seemed an angel. _No, she _is—_one truly sent to you by God, and one you do not deserve._

"For taking your children to Mass. It really was the best thing, Captain. They need a grounding in the church."

"They had one, once, long ago." The cooler air from the lake washed across his face, sweeping away the heat burning outside, unable to touch that burning within. "Before—Agathe died, our family went every Sunday." How was this possible, speaking of Agathe to his children's governess? To Maria...He licked his lips, cracking in the night as his face fell. "But afterwards, I couldn't bear to go. Foolishness without a doubt, trying to shut away God in the one time I needed Him the most."

"Perhaps," Maria said, her hands dropping to brace herself on the stone, "but I do understand, Captain."

"You do?" His eyes rose to meet hers without a thought, and beneath his sudden intense gaze, Maria's face filled with crimson.

"Yes," she said, her mind finding her breathing. _Slow,_ she thought, closing her eyes for a moment. If she did not see his eyes, she could imagine that they did not examine her. _Just breathe._ "My father did rather the same thing, Captain, after my mother died. He was a convert to the church, for her, but once she was gone, his faith vanished." Silent tears rose in her eyes, her fingers brushing them away before they spilled on to her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered, swallowing as the pain came another time—her arms burning with bruises, her ribs aching as her bones struggled to knit.

"Fräulein?" Georg could not read what covered her face, but the cheerful woman who had laughed at Brigitta's anger had disappeared, consumed by buried memories. "Fräulein?" he said again, and her face turned to him, her lovely blue eyes glistening with the tears she fought. _Lovely?_ His hand rose, wanting nothing more than to feel her skin beneath his fingers, to wipe away the despair of her past. _No,_ he said to himself, drawing his hand down once more. _If she wished for your comfort, she would ask you for it._

"It never works, does it?" Her voice had cleared, and the trembling Georg had thought he heard before had vanished, now supplanted by a bit of laughter.

"What?"

"Shutting out God." Her eyes clouded with her words. "We do it to punish Him, to deny Him our love and force on Him some small measure of what we're feeling—and in the end we only cause ourselves more pain."

"You sound as though you speak from experience," Georg said, standing straight now. "Something I would not expect from a future nun."

"I suppose not," Maria said quietly. His mention of her future—a few weeks ago, she would have certainly relished in it, but now, and here, the thought of her intended vows only weighted her heart. _What is wrong with you, Maria? _she asked herself, suddenly pleased with the long red sleeves of her dress that slid down to her wrists again, covering the shiver that filled her arms with bumps. _All your life, that is what you have wanted others to name you—a nun—and now that someone has, you shy away from it!_

"Fräulein," she heard the Captain say, his voice as shaky as hers had been a few moments before, "you truly must permit me to apologize for what I did—when I dismissed you."

"Please, Captain, there is nothing to apologize for. We both acted in anger, and if anyone should receive an apology—from both of us—it is the children."

"Why on earth should you need their forgiveness, Fräulein? I would have thought you had long ago seen their desperation to keep you."

"Captain, when you returned from Vienna that afternoon—when you ordered the children into that line once more—I was as blinded by anger as yourself." If she searched, she could still find that rage. "Had I been more cautious with my words, perhaps what happened might have been avoided."

"No, Fräulein," Georg said, stepping away from the railing, "I had hardly heard what you had to say concerning Liesl when my mind was already set—I knew that I could not permit you to stay. You would never force the children to follow the rules I had set for them, and if their happiness had filled this house"—his eyes rose along the villa a hint of its yellow paint glowing in the moonlight as he waved his hand towards the building—"I knew it could only be a matter of time before it consumed me as well. I might have claimed that I disapproved of the way you looked after my children, Fräulein, but it would have been a lie. It was my selfishness that bade me to dismiss you—"

"Captain," Maria said, reaching out, tightening her fingers on his wrist before she remembered herself, "anger can blind even the wisest. I assure you, you have nothing to apologize for."

Georg still did not glance at her; if she saw his eyes, he knew her first instinct would be to pull away, to take her hand from his arm—and at the moment, he wanted nothing less. Her grip was sure, as warm as her words, and had it belonged to any other person, even Elsa, he would have drawn his arm back from the heat of the evening. But it was Maria..._What are you doing, you ass? _he asked himself. _What are you allowing to take over you?_

Yet he smiled as his gaze drifted to her, unable to look away any longer. If she had truly forgiven him, forgotten his foolishness, he had no reason to deny it to himself. "I suppose I shall have to trust you on that," he said, the warmth of her hold upon him flooding his mind and heart.

A quiet grin spread across Maria's face as her hand lifted from his arm, cold as the contact ended. That easy expression took her entire visage, filling her lips and eyes as her breaths quickened. "I would like that, Captain."

* * *

_' "I do love you," I said, "more than ever: but I must not show or indulge the feeling: and this is the last time I must express it."_

_' "The last time, Jane! What! do you think you can live with me, and see me daily, and yet, if you still love me, be always cold and distant?" '_ Covering her yawn with a hand, Liesl crossed her legs another time on the blue fabric of the window seat. Her bed was softer than the thin cushion, yet for the chance of any breeze that might wander into the boiling room, she would endure the discomfort. Her eyelids were heavy, but the heat and wetness of the air clung to her body, forbidding her even the fitful rest that consumed her sisters. She turned another page in the book balanced on her knee, raising one hand to wave cooler air in her face.

It was another recommendation of Brigitta's: Jane Eyre. As the time for Jane and Mr. Rochester's wedding had drawn near, her stomach had twisted with an unexpected anticipation—a hope that all would come out well, despite the difficulties that were clearly rising in Jane's mind. Normally, Liesl did not feel so deeply for characters in a book, but Jane and Mr. Rochester...As the young woman had fallen in love with the enigmatic gentleman, Liesl could hardly keep herself from considering them differently, as her father and Fräulein Maria. _Don't be silly,_ she had told herself, especially with the entrance of Miss Ingram, yet she could not help herself.

And just as quickly, with the revelation of Mr Rochester's married status, her heart had plummeted with thoughts of Baroness Schräder. In the eyes of Viennese society, her father might as well already be married to her, a thought that brought her no joy.

The moonlight had hardly proved enough to read the minuscule words, so Liesl had switched on the lamp by her bed, hoping she did not disturb her sisters' sleep. The light shone bright enough across the carpet, even to the window where the drapes along the windows rippled, brushing her shoulders gently with the cooler air. _' "No, sir; that I am certain I could not; and therefore I see there is but one way: but you will be furious if I mention it." '_

"I assure you, you have nothing to apologize for." The quiet voice of her own governess rose with the wind, and Liesl glanced up from the pages in her lap, her eyebrows knitted together. It was surely past ten.

"I suppose I shall have to trust you on that," her father said, his voice as distant as her _fräulein's_, and now Liesl sat straighter, her mussed air catching on the collar of her nightgown as she turned over her shoulder to peer out the window. While the moonlight had been hardly enough to see the words across she pages of the volume she held, on the veranda it spilled brightly, illuminating both her father and Fräulein Maria, standing very near one another on the pale stone. The girl leaned forward over her legs, resting an elbow on the sill of the window to prop her chin on her palm.

"I would like that, Captain," Fräulein Maria said, loosening the grip she had taken on his arm to draw back her hand. Liesl had to blink at what she fancied she had just seen—and though she had long thought that she would hope to never see it come about, now she was uncertain about that promise to herself.

"Well, then, Fräulein, you're quite welcome," her father said, turning from Fräulein Maria to the lake. In that moment his voice had held something she did not recognize; it had been neither cold, commanding, harsh, nor despairing. No, for that instant, he had sounded almost pleasant—happy.

Liesl's lips pursed into a smile as she leaned into the window frame, letting her eyes fall to her book once more. She was more than willing to let them their privacy; in fact, she thought she might even endure Baroness Schräder to allow them time alone. Stifling another yawn, she continued with the words before her, the weight now lifted from her eyes. _' "Oh, mention it! If I storm, you have the art of weeping."_

_' "Mr. Rochester, I must leave you."_

_' "For how long, Jane? For a few minutes, while you smooth your hair—which is somewhat dishevelled; and bathe your face—which looks feverish?"_

_' "I must leave Adele and Thornfield. I must part with you my whole life: I must begin a new existence among strange faces and strange people." '_ Liesl's stomach tightened with Mr. Rochester's horror, for how could Jane leave? Did she not realize how desperately the man loved her?


	31. The Heart's Dreams

**Chapter 31: The Heart's Dreams**

_His lips brushed hers lightly as his hands, wrapped about her waist, drew her closer, pressing her against the full length of his body. "Captain," Maria whispered as he pulled from her the slightest, "we should not be—" And his mouth captured hers again, their kiss stronger now as one of his hands rose to her cheek, his fingers running along the fine bones of her face._

_Her body no longer clutched by both his hands, she could easily escape, run from the darkened terrace to her room, forget all that had just occurred. But now, her own hands drifted to his shoulders, holding him tighter to her, the heat of him filling her._

_She felt every inch of his body, every curve, every muscle...and his fingers now slipping beneath the neck of her dress. Yet it was not enough: she wanted so much more, yearned to feel his hands caressing, exploring her body impeded by nothing—to permit her own to know every portion of him—_

Maria's eyelids shot open to her bedroom, just tinged by the earliest streaks of the morning's glowing dawn. Every one of the windows in her room was open to the breeze from the lake, the stickiness of the previous night gone. But as she raised a hand to run through her hair, Maria felt fresh sweat on her face.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked as she pressed her cheek deeper into her pillow, drawing her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms about them as her chin dropped to rest on their bend. Sighing, she closed her eyes. "Why are you dreaming of what can never be?" Tugging the white sheets tighter about her body, she lay still for a time, the warmth of the rising sun creeping into her room and across her face, drawing the heat of the day along. Rolling over to the clock on her bedside table, she groaned as the hour hand pointed to seven, the longer hand just beyond marking five minutes past. She had been too long abed.

Maria tossed the warm blankets aside as she sat up, covering her yawn as she clenched her eyes in the brightness of the summer morning. She had not managed to sleep until very late, the early hours of the day, in truth, and she now keenly felt the want for rest that she knew would be clinging to her the entire day.

Despite the warmth of the sunshine, she drew her feet up once more as they touched the carpet, cool washes of air drifting from beneath her bed. Breathing deeply, she thrust her feet downward with a grimace, wiggling her toes in the white fibers. With another glance to the clock, she moved quicker, jumping from the edge of her bed to run to her bathroom. Switching the light on with a swipe of her hand, Maria wrenched the tap for cold water to the left, leaning down to splash her face. The puffiness of sleep seemed to recede from her eyes, as when she turned off the tap and glanced into the mirror, she saw clearer. Raising one hand to wipe the dripping water from her face—

_His lips had long ago departed from her mouth, exploring the rest of her face, her neck, the dip of her collarbone. And his hands, stroking every part of her body—so gentle with their strength, drawing soft moans from her. _Oh, Lord, _she thought, _please help me. _But even now, as he pulled from her, she did not want him to go._

_Her own hands came to his face, drawing him close to her once again. His lips fully consuming her own, she scarcely sensed the twisting band on her finger—how had she forgotten it was there?_

How many times had those images played in her mind? She could not number them, for each incarnation was different, even changing within one dream. As she threaded her fingers through her short hair another time, Maria shivered. "What are you thinking?" she whispered as she crossed the room to her bathtub, turning on the tap for hot water. "You're just chasing dreams you'll never find." The steam from the shower washing over her, Maria tugged her long nightgown over her head, letting it drop to the smooth tile floor by her feet. Stepping into the warm spray, she blinked as it splashed across her face. Beneath its heat—

_Her whole being was warmed by his body, as she had been the entire night. Before the night's darkness had truly fallen, she had thought herself complete, but now she could never be whole without him. She needed him near her always, and as she turned beneath the sheets of his bed, Maria smiled. She belonged only to him, now, and joy filled her at that knowledge and certainty. _Only his,_ she thought, her mind flying back in the night to the passion he had awoken in her, the desire she had no longer been ashamed to feel—the desperate need he had filled._

_Her captain was still asleep, his hand lying atop her waist to hold her to him. Leaning in to him, lifting one hand to brush strands of dark hair from his forehead, she touched her lips to his cheek. That drew his eyes open, a grin forming on his mouth. His second hand joined the one already on her body, traveling about her slender waist to hold her closer._

_"Good morning, my love," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead._

_"It _is_ a good morning, Georg," she said, not protesting as his hand drifted upwards to stroke the curve of her breast, a glint of gold flashing before her vision—_

Her foot slid on smooth porcelain, and the remembered dream vanished as her hand rose to her mouth and her heart beat faster. "What on earth are you doing, Maria Rainer?" she asked as she reached for her thin bar of soap. "What right do you have to think those things? None!"

Even as the water slid along her skin, washing away the sweat of the night's heat and humidity, Maria felt dirty—unclean. Smearing a stripe of lather across her arm, her breaths quickened. She could wash away all the dirt that layered her body, but she would not be clean—the filth filling her was beneath the reach of soap, coursing in her veins and through her heart.

How could she feel this way about anyone, let alone her employer? She meant to be a nun, to pledge herself only to God...yet every night without fail, her mind filled with those images.

_His kisses drifted lower, until his breath burned between her breasts as his hands trailed along her skin, a new pattern every time. "Maria," he said, his mouth by hers once more, "I love you"—he kissed her left cheek—"and just as I vowed yesterday, I always shall." He lifted her face with a finger and brushed her face with another kiss. "I promise you that for all my life."_

_"Georg," she whispered, his name so welcome on her tongue, "you shall always have my heart." Capturing his face with her fingers, she pressed her lips fully to his. "Now and forever."_

"No!" The word had left her mouth before she could silence it, even dampen it below a shout. Her hand moved faster along her body, the white lather bubbling quickly, but the harder she scrubbed, the deeper the grime seemed, further from her reach.

The skin of her arm was raw now, but she couldn't help it. The poison was within her, and there was no way to let it out. She could rub at her flesh all she liked, but she would never be clean again. Those visions, pounding in her head, pressing in her mind—revealing the terrible want that was within her. Oh, God, how could she even look at him this morning across the table without mortification?

"How could let yourself do this, Maria?" she asked, stepping fully beneath the running water. "How could you be such a fool?" But to be his—his and no other's...Splashing a handful of the warm water across her face, Maria shook her head. _Why are you still dreaming? _"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name..."

It would be wonderful to have his love. "...Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done..." Wonderful.

_"I am very glad to hear that," he whispered in her ear, brushing his lips to her temple. He pulled her even closer to him, the gap between their bodies vanishing beneath the sheets. His right hand entwined its fingers with hers, twisting that same band she had forgotten before. "My beloved Maria..."_


	32. Avoidance

**Chapter 32: Avoidance**

"You must have noticed it, Brigitta," Louisa said, sweeping the final strands of her curling blond hair into her braid. "It didn't take _that_ much of your mind to chase Friedrich."

"Well, I know I saw something," the younger girl said, "but I'm just not certain it's what you think." For the third time that morning, she bent down to glance beneath her bed, pushing aside the dust ruffle irritably. "I know it's here somewhere," she grumbled, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder.

"Then what would you call it?" Louisa twisted the band from around her wrist to tie off the end of her braid.

"I don't know, Brigitta said, her eyes narrowing as she rose, running across the room to her bookshelf, shoving aside piles of well-thumbed books. "I know that something's going on, but..." Her voice trailed to silence while she scowled, sliding the books back once more.

"What are you looking for, Brigitta?" Liesl asked as she turned off the light in their bathroom.

"My book."

"That's not very helpful, 'Gitta," Louisa said, her lips cracking into a grin. "You've ever so many."

"Which one?" Liesl asked before Brigitta could offer Louisa an angry glare. She did not want to see an argument between the girls; the pair of them could disagree almost as well as Louisa and Friedrich.

"The Mysterious Island. It's by Jules Verne," Brigitta said, returning to her bed, perching herself on its edge with a wistful sigh as she rested her chin on her palms.

"Don't you ever read anything by Austrians?" Louisa asked, dropping to sit beside her own bed on the fine carpet. "Last I checked, you were reading The House of the Seven Gables, and you got Liesl to reading Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre."

"I would if it was interesting," Brigitta began, but her words were cut off by Liesl closing the door to their bathroom rather louder than necessary.

"We weren't talking about Brigitta's reading habits," she said, crossing the room to sit beside Louisa, nearer the two girls there than if she were sitting by her own bed, "or what she finds interesting. We were talking about Saturday afternoon...Father and Fräulein Maria."

"I really don't understand you two," Louisa said, folding her knees beneath her, less wary of her skirt than she normally was. "I mean—Liesl, you were the one who said that he looks at Fräulein Maria the same way he did Mother. How can it not mean the same thing?"

"Louisa," Brigitta said, lifting her chin, "do you really think—"

"It's strange," Liesl said, cutting off Brigitta's voice a second time, "but the more I think about it, the more I think you're right, Louisa."

"About what?" Brigitta said with a frown, not wanting to be interrupted again.

"Father and Fräulein Maria falling in love." Louisa squinted her eyes at her older sister. Just a few days earlier, Liesl had nearly protested to high heaven over the idea—the mere possibility, and now, she conceded it not only with grace, but with a likelihood.

"You really think it's possible?" the youngest girl asked, standing from her bed to join her sisters across the room. "Father has always had such control of himself, almost like he was directing what he wanted to feel."

"But love isn't like that," Liesl said distantly, her own thoughts drifting to Rolfe. It had not even been the typical length of time between telegram deliveries, and already she missed him so much. "You can't even truly _look_ for love; it finds you, instead."

"And Liesl would know that better than either of us, right 'Gitta?" The younger girls shared a grin as Liesl's face flushed.

"Oh, hush," the older girl said, standing impatiently. "But they won't do anything on their own." Clasping her hands behind her back, Liesl began to pace, an image of her father in that moment. Even with what she had seen the night before, she couldn't believe anything would come of what was more obvious with each passing day. "And with Baroness Schräder here..."

"Then we'll just have to keep them together," Louisa said, pushing herself to stand, "and keep Baroness Schräder away. It's the only way."

"But how?" Brigitta asked, clamoring to her feet as well. "Do you really think she'll be happy if we keep her separated from Father—_clearly _separated? Besides, I don't think she would let us do such a thing."

"I thought you saw the way Father was looking at Fräulein Maria," Liesl said. She lifted her hand to smooth a flyaway strand of hair, pausing to scratch at a small itch on her forehead. "Standing at the window, looking at her and Gretl...But he didn't seem to see Gretl at all, only our _fräulein_."

"Like no one else existed around them," Louisa said quietly, her gaze distant. "As if nothing else was important." On their door, a quiet hand knocked, and Louisa blinked, her mind in the present time once more.

"Come in," Liesl called, and Fräulein Maria's face appeared through a sudden crack in the door.

"Please forgive me, girls," she said, not opening the door further. Her eyes were turned down, and she did not see the girls crimson faces; but neither did they see her eyes, red and puffy. "I'm afraid I slept a bit late today. But I see you're already up and dressed—"

"Fräulein Maria," Brigitta said quickly, turning on her heel to the door, her governess's face coming up at the sudden words, "have you seen my book?"

"What were you reading again, dear?" Maria's hand drifted to her hair, shoving a lock aside. The Captain had mentioned it the night before, but she had tried to forget as much of last night as she could, and the images it had forced through her mind. Her heart still beat quicker with the mere memory, though.

"The Mysterious Island, Fräulein—I can't find it anywhere!"

"Well, then," Maria said, blue eyes sparkling at the more pleasant thought, "I shall have to investigate your brother's room when I go to check on them next." Brigitta's lips curved in a knowing smile; ever were Friedrich and Kurt the source of mischief in the house, though they would claim to be rivaled by Louisa.

Their governess drew back for a few moments, but stopped, peering into their room once more. "Liesl," she said quietly.

"Yes, Fräulein?" the girl answered, her hands dropping to smooth a wrinkle in her red skirt.

"Might I ask you to start getting Marta and Gretl ready for breakfast? I don't wish to have my lateness become a delay for everyone—"

"Of course, Fräulein Maria," Liesl said, rushing toward the door. "I'll be there in a second." Her governess smiled, and extended her hand to squeeze Liesl's before walking quickly to the boys' room.

Her hand falling on the door knob, Liesl turned to her sisters. She smiled nervously, and with her other hand, raised crossed fingers, receiving their smiled encouragement in return. Pushing the door open, she trotted down the hallway from their limited sight. Louisa's pleasant expression faded swiftly as she turned to Brigitta, who was chewing her lower lip. Frowning, the older girl asked, "Do you think she knows something we don't?"

* * *

Liesl already had the younger girls in the bathtub, water up to their chests and their hair filled with suds when Maria came in, shaking her head. "If it wasn't there," she said to herself as she crossed the room to the girls, "I can't fathom where it could be." She knelt beside Liesl, rolling back the sleeves of her gray dress, the same one she had worn her first day in the household.

"Brigitta's book?" Liesl asked, sliding her knees on the tile so that Maria could be closer to the girls.

"Yes," the older woman sighed, scooping a handful of water over Marta's head as she covered the girl's eyes with her other hand. "Both Friedrich and Kurt swore up and down they knew nothing of it."

"I would believe them," Liesl said, pouring a bit of water over Gretl's back, the white lather streaming to the tub. "Or at least Friedrich. He's possibly the worst liar ever. Once, a long time ago, he took one of Louisa's dolls and hid it, but when he went to get it to give back to her, it was gone. So he claimed Brigitta must have moved it." Washing the soap from Gretl's hair, Liesl smiled. "That made Mother and Father laugh so much."

"Why is that?" Maria twisted Marta's hair around her finger to pull it up, cleaning away the suds of soap covering her small body.

"Well, Brigitta hadn't been born quite yet. Mother and Father had just decided what names they would give a boy or a girl, and it seems he just remembered hers."

Marta glanced up as Maria laughed, a sound that had not been so often heard by any of the children for the past few days. Yes, their governess seemed happy to be back with them, but even Marta had seen that something seemed to be troubling her. But the giggles that bubbled up within Fräulein Maria, the smile widening across her face—even Marta smiled at the sudden joy filling the young woman.

"Somehow," she said as her laughter quieted, "I can see Friedrich saying something so silly— Ahh!" She jerked backwards, tugging Marta's head with her, the girl's dark hair still wrapped around her finger. Gretl, wearied of the words above her head, had splashed a fistful of water at her already wet sister, soaking Maria's arms and the upper portion of her dress as she missed.

"Gretl!" Liesl said, her hands dropping to clutch her sister's shoulders, but Maria shook her head, laughing another time as she let Marta's hair fall from her grasp to pluck at the darkened fabric scrunched along her arms.

"At least _you're_ dry," she said to the girl, biting her lip as the disapproving glare faded from Liesl's face. "But I would say they're clean by now." Bracing herself against the rounded porcelain of the bathtub's edge, Maria pushed herself to stand, offering her hand to Liesl who pulled herself up before she reached down to Marta.

The girl was dripping as Maria stood her on the tile floor, reaching for a towel to wrap around her small shoulders. Liesl pulled Gretl from the tub as well, her own skirt soaked as her youngest sister turned, her long, wet hair throwing water every direction. Sighing, she turned to her governess. "Not anymore."

Glancing to Liesl's drenched skirt, Maria smiled. "I guess not," she said, handing a towel to Liesl, who bent to begin rubbing Gretl dry.

Marta and Gretl were quickly dried off, dressed for the day, their hair braided, and Maria and Liesl's clothes were soon but a bit damp. Tightening a band around the second of Marta's locks, Maria turned the girl to face her. "You look like a proper lady," she said quietly, leaning in to brush shorter strands of hair from the girl's forehead, rewarded by a few giggles. Marta's face was so like her father's, Maria saw, and her smile might have been worn upon the Captain's visage as easily as her own.

Maria's stomach twisted as she closed her eyes, trying to swallow air. _No,_ she thought, her hands dropping to the carpet where she knelt to hold herself upright. Why had she closed her eyes, for now everything was simpler to see. _Not now—anytime but now! Oh Father, please help me!_ Her eyelids rose again, her blurring vision filled by Marta's small face, worry replacing her mirth.

"Fräulein Maria?" she said softly. "Is something wrong?"

Even as the warm blush spread across her cheeks and the tears burned just below her eyelids, Maria shook her head, reaching up with her hand to tap Marta's nose. "No, darling," she said, working her way to stand. "I didn't sleep well last night...I imagine none of you did, with the humidity."

"It was awful," Gretl said, twisting away from Liesl, who was still trying to tie the girl's braid, not looking to her governess. With her free hand, Maria rubbed at her eyes, the slightest traces of tears upon her fingers as she pulled them away. "It was too hot!"

"Yes," Maria said as Marta slid her fingers into her grasp, wishing she could sound more certain of what she said. Neither the heat nor the humidity had bothered Maria to a great extent—by the time she had lain down to sleep, much of both had already vanished. No, it was what had come _with_ her sleep that had been her troubles. More often than not, she did not remember her dreams, and now Maria felt she would do anything to forget what her mind had seen so often in the past few nights.

_She lay in his arms, simply enjoying the warmth of Georg surrounding he__r. The children had long ago gone upstairs, herded by Liesl and Friedrich, leaving them alone downstairs, on the couch before the low flames on the hearth of the drawing room. His chest rose and fell quietly against her back, his breaths difficult to discern though his lips were by her ear._

_In his embrace, held so tightly by his strength, she knew she would always be safe, no matter what life would bring them. Maria sighed, and her body relaxed further against his; she could feel his lips smiling into her hair. "Perhaps it is time we went to tell the children good night," he whispered. "They shall be wondering where their mother is."_

_She could not hold back her own grin as one of Georg's hands drifted to her waist, resting on the small bulge of their child—the latest miracle in their lives. "And their brother or sister," she added, twisting her face to his, leaning to kiss him, her—_

"Fräulein Maria?" Liesl's voice pulled her from the memory of that dream, the final one that had filled her mind through the night. "We should be going downstairs now."

"Oh, yes, Liesl," Maria said, shutting her eyes tightly for a moment. "Please forgive me, I'm still a bit tired." She could only smile weakly as she led Marta towards the door, her free hand coming to her mouth over her breaths, shuddering with each intake. _Father, please help me,_ she prayed._ Please._

Offering her own hand to Gretl, Liesl's eyes narrowed at the crimson that covered her _fräulein's_ face. _What happened between her and Father last night? _she asked herself as the small group left the girls' room, their steps quickening as the sounds of the rest of the family at breakfast filtered up through the foyer. _Does she not want to fall in love?_

The cheerful woman Liesl had seen take such joy in being near her father last night was gone this morning. Oh the expressions and the face were the same, but the person was entirely different. This woman would never reach out to comfort a man that her face every day betrayed an attraction towards, a man desperately in need of that comfort...and a man who might easily return that affection in kind.

_I'm sure Father sees it,_ Liesl thought. _He would have to be blind not to. She blushes whenever she looks at him, she's brighter when she is around him. Fräulein Maria might not _want_ to fall in love, but she is. And Father...He would never be the same if she left. But what of Baroness Schr__äder? Remember why he brought her to visit us—he wants to marry her, or at least, he wanted to._

Reaching the first of the stairs, Liesl slowed her pace for Gretl; Fräulein Maria and Marta took the staircase faster. _Louisa is right,_ she thought, tugging on her sister's hand to quicken her steps. _Keeping Father and Fräulein Maria together is the only way._ Her footsteps echoing on the polished wooden floor of the foyer, she offered her governess a small smile as she and Marta continued toward the dining room, Liesl and Gretl behind them. _But how?_


	33. The World Outside

**Chapter 33: The World Outside**

Georg rarely read the morning's newspaper at the breakfast table, but this morning he hardly took notice of his family over its top edge. The Spanish Civil War had intensified in the past few weeks, and with the Germans and Italians sending the fascists aid in manpower and equipment, the volunteers fighting for the Spanish Republic hardly seemed to have a chance for success. The revolution had been raging almost a full year with the Republic holding itself, but for much longer could the American and other European supporters maintain an interest in a war that was not theirs to fight? _Not much longer,_ he thought as he folded the paper along its crease, setting it across the corner of the table.

The poison of fascism and its companion, Nazism, had infected the heart of Europe, and was spreading. It was no longer a matter of _if_ a new war would consume the continent; no, now the question was one of _when_. Hitler had already formed an air force, remilitarized the Rhineland, discarded nearly every provision of the Treaty of Versailles...The _Anschluss_ was not in the distant future—it was here and now.

His eyes glancing along the table, he blinked at the absences he suddenly noticed. Those children present were eating eagerly—Kurt had already made his way through a plateful of pancakes—and as ever, Max and Elsa were nowhere to be seen so early. But Gretl, Marta, Liesl, and Maria...Reaching for his glass, his hand shook. When was the last time he had in his own mind considered her as _Fräulein_ Maria, the postulant who cared for his children? The memory would not come, for it seemed it had been ages since he had held her so distant.

Yet how it eased his heart, to hear so many footsteps in the hall, Gretl's tiny voice asking questions as always. "...doing today, Fräulein Maria?" she finished as she entered the room behind her _fräulein_, clutching Liesl's hand as tightly as Marta had Maria's.

"Oh, I'm not certain Gretl," she said with a glance over her shoulder to the little girl, leading Marta to her seat at Georg's left hand. "I would say you will have to ask Friedrich, as it's his day to decide." The boy sat straighter in his chair, a grin on his face as Brigitta rolled her eyes opposite him; Friedrich's idea of a good time always involved some sort of sport.

Helping Marta into her seat, Maria lowered her gaze to the table as she felt the Captain's own come across her. If she did not meet his eyes, she might not find those memories rising within her, the flushing of her cheeks that would accompany them. "Good morning, Captain," she said quietly.

"Good morning, Fräulein," he said, setting his glass down as Marta slid her chair beneath the table. Her face had a glow to it this morning, though it was dampened by a strange oppression that filled even her few words. "I was beginning to wonder whether the four of you had become lost upstairs."

"No, Captain," Maria said, walking to the end of the table to take her own seat opposite him, "I was a little late getting up, though fortunately all but the youngest were ready when I went to wake them. Liesl was kind enough to help me with Marta and Gretl. I do hope you will forgive me."

"May I remind you, Fräulein," he said, hardly seeing his eldest daughter sit at his other side, having settled Gretl beside Maria, "there is nothing to forgive." He held a smile at the memory of the previous night, but Maria's countenance only darkened as he repeated her words.

There was a sadness he was unaccustomed to seeing in her face, one that engulfed her this morning. Her ever cheerful eyes were downcast, and his only glimpse of them, when she glanced up to a question from Kurt, revealed them tinged with red. "Then I must thank you, Liesl," he said, turning to his eldest child, "for being so willing to help with your sisters." He could not stand to look at Maria hurting so, when— _No, do not consider that,_ he thought as he forced a smile, wishing it could be genuine. _You've no right to even dream that._

"Father," Liesl said, catching her father's attention, "is something wrong?" As she began to slice her dumplings, Georg sighed, and allowed his expression to fade to a frown; she had noticed the headline by her arm.

"The civil war in Spain is intensifying," he said, reaching for the paper, folding it to set beneath his napkin on his lap. It was not something his children needed to know at the breakfast table, and a topic he wished Liesl knew less about than she did.

"After a year?" she asked, taking her first bite of _Spinatknödel_. "I can't believe that the Republic hasn't managed to stop Franco yet."

"If he's receiving aid from the Italians and Germans..." Georg said, his words trailing to silence. It was too early to be worrying about such things; he feared he would already be bothered enough the entire day by the despair that seemed to be covering Maria.

A newly unfamiliar silence fell across the table, heavy upon every ear that soon welcomed the scrape of silverware and occasional thumping of elbows against one another. Between Gretl and Louisa, Maria stared at her plate, hardly touching her eggs and dumpling. She knew when she could not eat—her stomach was still twisting from earlier, remembering those images that had played across her mind. More than a few bites...she did not want to think about it. Her hand trembled as she leaned over to help Gretl cut her eggs, and she could not return the girl's grin.

_What are you so afraid of? _she asked herself. _Embarrassment, but none have seen what you have seen. What, then?_ The silence was nearly unbearable, and after a few minutes of the uncomfortable quiet, even the chattering of Baroness Schräder and Max as they came into the dining room, late as ever, was a welcome distraction.

"My, my, my," Max said as he ambled toward his seat beside Maria and Louisa, "I thought we were past all this." Pulling his chair from beneath the table, he winked at Maria. "All thanks to you, my dear."

Maria flushed at the compliment, her gaze finally rising from the table to catch Max's. "No, Herr Detweiler, I think everything would have worked itself out...in the end." Twisting her face from his without a thought, Maria's eyes came to the Captain, and her heart raced painfully as she reached for her glass of water, needing to wet her mouth, suddenly dry.

_She may say that,_ Georg thought as Elsa slid into her chair, offering him a comment he did not hear, _but you know better than any other: without her, your children would still fear you, still wonder just when you would escape to Vienna again. Is it any surprise that they regard her as they do, as—_

"...be grateful for, Georg?" Elsa's voice had at last filled his mind, breaking through his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Elsa," he said, leaning to take her hand in his own; at the end of the table, Louisa dropped her own eyes to her plate, afraid of the look that would cross her face if she allowed herself to see her father and Baroness Schräder. "I didn't hear what you said."

"I heard over the wireless about the war in Spain, darling," she said, her painted lips shining in the light of the chandelier. At last, she had his eyes, though this morning, they had hardly been fixed upon the governess as they had for so many days before. "It seems we've something to be grateful for at last—the tensions within Europe are moving away from Austria." Reaching around Liesl's glass for a slice of dry toast, she smiled at him, the same expression that had pleased him in Vienna when nothing else could, it seemed.

"I would hardly say it is worth gratitude," Georg said, pulling his hand from hers as he leaned back in his chair. "Just because in this moment we may relax does not mean that our troubles are over." _Hitler will never allow Austria to remain free!_ "There's no reason to assume we shall not soon have our own share of it."

"Then perhaps we should enjoy the time we shall have with peace," Elsa said, raising her toast for a bite, flinching beneath the glower Georg offered her.

"What is there to enjoy when it will soon be shattered?" he growled lowly, drawing the faces of every one of his children; even Max and Maria at the opposite end of the table glanced to him. Her eyes were still red, he could see, and the pain on her face, sharper than those few minutes before.

"Georg," Elsa began, but her words quieted as Max cleared his throat. Turning her eyes to him, she could just see him shake his head, begging her to fall silent. Taking another bite of her toast, she frowned as she chewed. In truth, Max had been right in what he had said their first day at the villa—what was to come would come, and despite what Georg might wish, there was nothing he could do to alter that. The _Anschluss_ might come, and it might not; the whims of one retired sea captain, though, would mean very little.

_How can she not understand?_ Georg asked himself, leaving the remainder of his breakfast untouched. _Does she wish for the _Anschluss_? To become German, to satisfy Hitler's claim to power?_ He knew Elsa had as few political convictions as Max—none—but the truth of them, hearing her apathy spoken..._No._ In the silence descended once more, he could at last see—understand—

"Well, children," Maria's voice came, the enthusiasm so common in her returned, "have you all finished your breakfasts?" _Maria..._She might not have the knowledge of the world, Georg knew, but she was intelligent, and he had experienced first-hand the strength of her principles.

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," the children said, even as Kurt shoveled a last bit of egg in his mouth, his own affirmation muffled by the food around his tongue.

"Then, Friedrich," she said, pushing her own nearly untouched plate forward to rest her elbows on the table, her palms cupping her chin, "what shall we do today?"

"A ball game, Fräulein," he said, smiling even as Brigitta pouted, crossing her arms on her chest as a few dark strands of hair cascaded over her shoulder. "So we can be outside, where it's warm."

"Sounds like a perfect idea for a such a clear day," Maria said. "Don't you agree, Brigitta? I think it would be marvelous for us to all get some sun."

"I suppose," she said, though her voice betrayed her lie. She wanted to find her book, and was still convinced it was hidden in Friedrich and Kurt's room, a frown crossing her mouth.

"It does sound quite wonderful," Max said, lifting his napkin to wipe the crumbs of his own toast from his mustache. "So wonderful, I think I shall be forced to join you on this little excursion." Maria's eyebrows rose at this, and he only laughed, reaching out to take her hand gently. "Don't worry, my dear, I shan't be a bother at all—I simply need to have a few words with you about persuading Georg to let these talented children of his—"

"Max." Georg's voice was a warning, and his old friend sighed as he leaned into his chair.

"Ah, well," he said, shrugging his shoulders regretfully as he dropped his napkin on the table. "It seems I shall merely be a bore to you after all, Fräulein. But the morning sun does sound lovely."

"Come along, then, children," Maria said, the first to stand. _The sooner you leave, the better,_ she told herself. _The sooner you will be away from him._ "Do you remember where you put the ball, Friedrich?"

"Yes, Fräulein," he said, pushing his own chair back. "Shall I go get it?" At her nod, he sped into the foyer, and his footsteps soon echoed from above, drawing a scowl from Brigitta.

"We'll meet him outside," Maria said, offering her hand to Gretl who slid from her chair easily. "I trust that is acceptable to you, Herr Detweiler?"

"Of course," he said, standing with the rest of the children. "Though I truly will have to beg for your help—"

"Max," Georg's voice came again, and the man sighed.

"It seems I am shot down once again," he said, walking towards the foyer. Maria followed him, Gretl at her side and the remaining children in a group behind her, all surprised to see Friedrich already in the foyer with the brown rubber ball.

At the door of the dining room, Liesl paused, turning to her father and Baroness Schräder. "Will you come with us, Father?" she asked, a glow lighting in her eyes. But there was something beyond just a wish to have her father near, he could read that much in her expression.

"Not today, dear," he said, wincing as that sudden hope dropped from her face, that strange, extra wish vanishing. "Perhaps tomorrow."

"Perhaps," she said quietly, turning slowly to join her siblings in the foyer, thoughts of their father and the Baroness already forgotten. Georg heard a bit of a giggle that floated into the dining room from either Marta or Gretl, he was not certain which. The warmth of the sun that they would soon be enjoying called to him as certainly as it called to them all, even Brigitta, who he suspected would be fully engrossed in the game after a few moments, thoughts of her missing book forgotten. And he wished for nothing more than to be there with them—with _all_ of them...

"Now, Georg," Elsa said, her hand resting softly on his own, "you really must look over the guest list another time, make sure you haven't missed anyone." He bit his tongue as he held his frown, for he could not feign another smile this morning. Oh, God, all these details, so subtle and almost inane—he wanted to do nothing _less_.


	34. Following Blindly

**Chapter 34: Following Blindly**

The sun of the late morning was warm on Georg's face, bright and clear as it shone in his eyes; he had escaped Elsa after a few hours, complaining of a headache, one that faded as he breathed the clear air. Flowing briskly over the grass, the wind carried snatches of his children's laughter, Max's protests, and Maria's cries for order. His heart was lightened by that sound, the memory of the morning's headline and Elsa's apathy lessened.

Georg tried to silence the curses rising in his mind. How could she be so careless, so unconcerned over Germany and Italy's continuous aid to Franco? France and Britain, the greatest powers Europe could now boast, had little enough care for the struggling Spanish Republic; how would they be concerned for the next nation to fall to those two malevolent powers. He held his angered growl close, for the next victim could only be Austria. _For Hitler's vanity,_ he thought, _and Hitler's security._

Striding upward along a curving hill, Georg caught sight of the group at last, his children, Max, and Maria. His eyes found _her_ quickly: her cheeks were pink with her running about, and her hair wild, blown freely by the wind. She wore that same dress he had first seen her in, the gray frock even the poor had rejected, but on this morning it was not hideous; no, this morning she seemed beautiful beneath it.

They stood in a circle, perhaps only half the group taking any notice of his slow approach. In the center, Kurt stood blindfolded by a dark band of cloth, his hands out-stretched. Georg had to smile; Brigitta had been correct, as usual, in her assertion that Friedrich's choice for the day would be a sport of some sort, though it appeared that his idea for a ball game had been discarded, as the ball lay in the grass, forgotten. Yet even her face was filled with enjoyment, for who could not take pleasure in the warm summer day? _A few weeks ago, _you_ could not have done so,_ he thought. But he shook his head; those days were in the past, and there, they would remain.

"One, five, eight!" Kurt shouted, spinning around as he thrust his hands forward. In the circle around him, Maria, Friedrich, and Brigitta left their places, running to the interior. Kurt's fingers nearly had his sister, Brigitta's dark hair flying through his grasp before he could truly catch her. Friedrich rounded him easily, staying to the edge of the circle and taking Brigitta's place without even nearing his brother.

Maria, though, to Georg's eyes, made no effort to avoid Kurt's hands, hardly shying away from his wild grasps. "Ha!" the boy exclaimed, finally capturing her arm, the rest of the children and Max standing on the edge of the circle smiling at Maria's willingness to be caught.

Kurt had tried time and again to catch his siblings, and even Max, every time without success; indeed, Max had found himself surprised that Maria had not already taken one of the children's numbers so that she might replace the boy. Kurt's hand traveled along her arm, squeezing her shoulder and at last catching in her short hair. "Fräulein Maria!" he said, ripping the blind-fold back from his eyes, smiling up at his governess. "You're it!"

Her sigh was more feigned than genuine, Georg saw, as she accepted the thin length of fabric, Kurt taking her place within the circle while she slid her finger through the knot to loosen it before she tied it around her own eyes. "And you're number five," she said to him, adjusting the strip over her eyes. The cloth bound her hair soundly to her head, and Georg had to laugh: identified by her short hair! Maria turned in the center, raising her arms to hold her balance as she wobbled on the uneven ground. Standing still for a moment, he noticed her lips pursing as he stepped closer. "Two, three, six!" she said firmly, and Marta, Louisa, and Liesl ran from the circle.

Drawing even closer, Georg clearly saw Marta dash beneath her governess's arms, giggling though Maria made no attempt to reach down to the girl she must have heard. Liesl passed near her, and Maria truly thrust her hands toward her, but the girl dodged her attempt.

Louisa started her run a bit after Liesl and Marta, waiting for her governess to turn her back before taking off for Marta's place on the circle. Maria hardly had time to react to Louisa's footsteps before the girl was past her, skidding on the grass that was still slippery from the morning's dew to fall with a thump.

"Ow," she whispered, rubbing her lower back, now aching from her second fall in as many days. At her side, the girl's tiny face almost level with Louisa's, Gretl giggled, her mouth cracking into a grin as her sister tried to find traction for her hands, not even frowning, only wincing. Bracing herself, Louisa began to push herself to stand, reaching her knees as she smoothed her blue skirt and brushed aside a few blades of grass and wildflower petals.

Raising her eyes, she found her father, leaning against one of the trees near their clearing, simply watching them all as a small smile crept across his mouth. _How long ago would it have been when he would have snapped at me,_ she wondered, _rather than almost laugh?_ Turning her face over her shoulder, she had a glimpse of Fräulein Maria spinning again, stumbling as she seemed dizzy—and her words of the morning flooded Louisa once again. _"Then we'll just have to keep them together."_

Halfway to her feet, Louisa dropped to the grass again, forcing her face into a grimace as she wrapped a hand around her left ankle. She had nearly broken it twice before, once due to a fall from the trellis beneath the governess's room, and had twisted it several times; there was no reason her father would disbelieve her on this occasion. Feigning a struggle to stand she frowned. She had surely suffered more injuries than all her sisters put together, possibly more than either Friedrich or Kurt—her father would probably believe _any_ injury she faked. Shaking her head, she took her first step carefully towards her father, favoring her left leg as she neared him.

"Are you all right, Louisa?" he asked, holding out a hand to help her, one that she took with a face of gratitude.

"I think I twisted my ankle," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I didn't expect the grass to still be so wet." Stepping closer to the tree, she rested her back against it for a moment.

"Well, it's been some time since you've injured yourself," Georg said, settling his arm on his daughter's shoulder. He had seen the trouble she had so easily made for herself as a child, and the scrapes, sprains, and scratches that went along with it. "I'd say you were due, Louie."

Louisa wrinkled her nose at the mention of her nickname, and her father laughed, pulling her closer to him. "That doesn't mean I enjoy getting hurt!" she said, not fighting his embrace, the small favor she could offer to offset her lie. As his grip on her loosened, she bent her legs carefully. "I'm going to sit down." His eyes were concerned, and she shook her head. "I don't feel like doing something worse.

"Why don't you take my place, Father?" Louisa asked as she settled herself on to the grass, tucking her left foot beneath her with a feigned caution. "There's no reason for my spot to be empty." Her father furrowed his eyebrows at her words, but she only smiled up from the grass beneath the tree. "Please, Father?" Georg sighed, for in that moment, Louisa appeared identical to her mother—her entire expression had been Agathe's, a vision he was unaccustomed to seeing on his second daughter. "Please?"

His hand brushed her hair, some strands still wild despite her braid. "If you wish," Georg said, lifting his hand from her head to walk towards the group, taking pause after a few steps to glance back at his daughter. "Which number were you?"

"Two," Louisa said, relaxing against the back of the tree as her father continued his walk. She bit her lip as the latest group Maria had selected ran across the interior of the circle. Fräulein Maria might permit the younger children to outrun her, but any older than Kurt she would most likely chase in earnest. Her father, Louisa knew, she would she would chase as well, perhaps mistaking him for Uncle Max.

Stepping into the vacant place on the circle, Georg shook his head as the last of his children finished running about him. How had he been unable to refuse Louisa's plea for him to join such an activity? _Because you have hardly ever done what your children wish—not within the past few years._

Maria's voice drew him back, rising with the call of another round of numbers, four, five, and seven, sending Gretl, Kurt, and Max across the circle, the little girl so frantic Georg almost had to laugh. Maria's hands dropped to capture Gretl, her fingers tickling one of the girl's arms as her other hand seized her waist.

"Hmm," Maria said, holding her smile as she felt the crown of hair that tapered to a single braid she recalled from the morning, "could it be that I have _Marta_?"

"No!" Gretl squealed, twisting in her governess's arms and laughing as the young woman frowned in concentration, the children around her biting down their grins.

"Oh, but I am certain," Maria protested, clutching the girl to her, now tickling her stomach to stronger laughter. "Are you positive you're not Marta?"

Gazing around Gretl and her _fräulein_ as the little girl giggled again, Liesl's eyes widened at her father; Louisa seemed to have injured herself—their father would not have taken her place otherwise—but her sister was stronger than that. Yet beneath her tree, Louisa's face bore a content smile—one that was hopeful. _But what for?_ Liesl had to ask herself.

"Yes!" Gretl shouted, and Maria let her arms fall apart to release the child, who rushed to the only open place on the circle—the one she had just vacated by her father, who gazed down at his youngest child, at her rosy cheeks and the glee that flowed from her. In the center, Maria spun herself about again, the heavy gray dress swirling about her knees, the loose ends of her hair floating on the air, and Georg had to remind himself to breathe as the sun bathed her in a ray of its light that broke through a handful of clouds overhead.

"Two, three, eight!" she shouted, and the quick fall of hurrying feet swiftly reached her ears. She had long ago lost track of anyone's number, except for Kurt's, who had taken hers. The sound of two small runners was simple to find, easily contrasted by the noise of one single, larger person. _Max,_ she thought, _or perhaps Friedrich._ Whichever one, she would not feel bad about actually catching him!

Her hands rose, following the heavy footsteps: slower than she would have expected from Friedrich, and closer than she would have thought for Max, as he certainly would have ducked beneath her arms or clung to the edge of the circle. _Liesl?_ she wondered, but she dismissed that notion; the steps were too weighted for the girl—and now her fingers found this person she had been grasping at, clutching an arm much stronger and warmer than she had expected.

"Let me think," Maria said, her voice more confident than she felt. Her hand traveled up the unseen arm, covered by a fine fabric; she reached the shoulder, muscular and powerful even beneath the suit coat she decided she felt. Friedrich wore a shirt with no jacket this morning, and Max was neither as tall nor as well built as this man—

_What other man is there? _she asked herself, her fingers continuing upwards without thought, finding the powerful slope of his jaw that she had expected, and the warmth, both in his flesh and spreading across her own skin. How often had she wondered what he would feel like under her hands, how smooth his skin would seem—and her breath caught in her throat, for he did not pull away. _Who else—_

Maria's free hand came to the fabric about her eyes, sliding her fingers beneath it to pull it away from her—to see the Captain standing so near, her hand on his face. Squinting in the sudden reemergence of the morning light, his features were difficult to discern for Maria, but his blue eyes twinkled, piercing her, seeing directly through her until she feared he might see what none but herself had seen. Had the space between them disappeared so easily, so willingly?

Her hand trembled, but she did not let it drop—she would not, could not let him go— _What are you doing, Maria? Just step back, step away!_ Yet finally feeling his skin beneath her fingers— Her eyes drifted around the circle, and among those she could find, Maria did not see Louisa. Behind the circle, behind the Captain, she sat beneath a tree, her legs folded beneath her as leaned against the bark, a smile on her face. _Why is she sitting down?_ Yet once her gaze returned to the Captain...did her knees still hold her? She wasn't certain.

"Fräulein Maria?" One of the younger girls had called her name, but she could not decide just which child—how had she even heard the words, for her heart beat in her ears, forcing the blood almost painfully through her veins; all she heard were the thumps in her chest, and all that filled her eyes was his face, the morning sun glowing behind him.

Her fingers were soft against his face, Georg felt, and he nearly leaned into her touch, almost pulled her closer, into his arms. She had not even been so near the night before, yet in that moment, and this as well, he could not feel anything of the world beyond her—his own awareness was only of her. The deep blue of her eyes, the warmth of her spirit, the kindness of her heart...and the confusion now rising on her face. No, not confusion—_fear_. Her hand, still warm, trembled against his face.

"Children," he said softly, the first word to break the quiet that had consumed the group, "Frau Schmidt has prepared lunch by now. I am certain you would not want to miss it." Her eyes blinked, shining as the words of ravenous children rose around them, Kurt shouting something to Brigitta. Falling from his face at last, her hand left behind a cool patch on his skin where it had lain, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a small smile. Maria's face was calming at last, even as it was flooded by a deep crimson flush, and her gaze was quickly drawn down.

"Father," a tiny voice said, strange to Georg's ears. The quivering he had felt in Maria's palm seemed to spread through her body, the small shivers visible— "Father. _Father!_" A child's hand tugged on his own, drawing his attention to her face, pink from the sun. "Carry me, Father," Gretl said, reaching her hands up to him.

Stepping back from Maria, he bent to his youngest child, wrapping his arms around her as she clutched his neck. Her weight was as heavy in his arms as it had been that morning not so long ago, but settled against his hip, it did not pain his back so much. He turned to Maria again, surprised to that the bit of her face still visible continued to glow red, one arm on her waist as her other hand covered one of her cheeks. His left hand held Gretl, and he wished for nothing more than to offer his right to Maria, to draw her to him...But no, not here, not while that same fright held her eyes.

Liesl could not find her breath as she still stood silent, her eyes fixed upon her father and governess. That moment they had stood unmoving, Fräulein Maria's hand against her father's face...it had lingered for such a length of time, as though the passing of the day had paused, not wishing for what it felt to be lost.

Across from her, Louisa climbed to her feet, walking towards the group, favoring one of her feet, passing Friedrich as he stooped to collect the ball from the grass. The younger children, their father and Uncle Max were already moving toward the house, just visible over the rise of a hill as Louisa reached her older sister. "Are you all right?" Liesl asked, her gaze narrowing even while Louisa had a grin.

"I'm fine," she said, turning to Fräulein Maria, still motionless a few meters away.

"Then why were you sitting down...and why are you limping?" Liesl's voice was low as she leaned to her sister, brushing a few strands of dark hair behind her ear.

"Well," Louisa began softly, her smile growing broader, "I told Father I thought I had twisted my ankle—but I think I'm fine now. Anyway, it seems it all worked out for the best."

"You shouldn't lie," Liesl said with a scowl, straightening and looking to her father, still carrying Gretl as he laughed at some comment by Kurt. Uncle Max seemed to have given in and pulled Marta into his arms, the little girl resting her head on his shoulder. "No matter what the reason." Glancing behind her, Liesl's scowl changed to a frown. "Fräulein Maria?" Her governess had not yet moved, still clutching one hand to her waist, staring at the ground. "Fräulein Maria?"

Maria's face jerked up, the red fading from her skin. "Yes, Liesl?" Her voice wavered as her hand at last fell from her cheek.

"We're going in now, Fräulein."

"Oh, yes." Shaking her head, Maria stumbled for a step or two before joining the older girls. Twisting the dark blindfold around her fingers, she began walking with them after the rest of the children and the Captain. "I saw you sitting down, Louisa," Maria said, eyeing her for a moment. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing really, Fräulein," Louisa said, crossing the fingers of her left hand behind her back as she blinked carefully. "I just thought I had twisted my ankle..."

* * *

Maria squinted at the bright electric light that burned in her eyes from the lamp on her table. The afternoon had been rather trying—chaining the children to their studies for an hour had proved difficult, yet she had managed that with ease when she considered the time before dinner. Liesl, promising to keep a close watch on Marta and Gretl, had persuaded her to take some time to herself, a thing she had not had in the time since her return to the Von Trapp family. Maria had meant to take a nap, yet the moment she laid back on her bed, the soft mattress forming itself about her, she no longer sensed the exhaustion that had driven her to her bedroom. 

And the children's voices, rising with the breeze to slip through her window, they lifted her eyelids whenever they threatened to droop. Still awake after a half hour, Maria had at last dismissed the notion of sleep, deciding instead that she might find an interesting volume in the library. _After reorganizing it,_ she had thought, _it would be a shame if you did not make use of it._

In that dusty room, she had smiled to see Brigitta's missing book shelved under the section for Vs. Tugging it from the tight hold of the tomes on either side, she had marveled at the thickness, that a ten year-old could be interested in such a hefty novel. Her own eye, though, had landed upon a thin volume nestled near Verne's shelf: Candide, by Voltaire. Sliding it from the shelf, she had settled it atop Brigitta's book in her hands, then turned to go.

_What had caught her attention about that photograph, Maria was not certain. Her gaze rising to it, she wondered that she had not seen it the first day of her return. A family photograph, one of the _entire_ Von Trapp family, sat on the shelf just above her eye level, every edge of the black frame layered with dust. Filling the image, she saw the Captain and every one of the children, even little Gretl, all much younger than she knew them, the elder children standing while the younger knelt, the bickering that seemed constant between Friedrich and Louisa for once appearing to be silenced._

_But in the center, tiny Gretl in her lap, the Captain standing behind her with his hands resting gently on her shoulders, sat a dark haired woman, her figure an expression of grace and beauty. Her hair trailed over her shoulders, and her mouth had broken into a smile, her dark eyes shining with a bright happiness. _Is that,_ Maria thought to herself. Yes, she had to be—the Captain's wife, Agathe, she remembered from the night before._

_Her face might easily have been Liesl's, and her hair had the same slow curls as Brigitta's, worn just as long, in precisely the same shade. Yet it was the young woman's eyes that held Maria's interest, the intense joy that consumed them: it was more than matched by the glow upon the Captain's countenance, an expression that on her first day in the house, she would never have dreamed might have crossed his face._

_That same happiness was just as simple to see in every one of the children—in Liesl's pleasant face, Friedrich's grin, Louisa's ever mischievous gaze, Kurt's unruly hair, Brigitta's intelligent eyes, Marta's mouth opened wide, a few teeth visible, and Gretl's curious smile. How long could it have been until her death? Months, Maria decided—only months from when this photograph had been taken until the children had lost _both _their parents, almost forever._

How did they survive? _she had to ask herself. _How did they hold to their love for him? _When her own mother had died, her father had pushed her aside just as well, beating her when she fell in his path. But she had never truly loved him as a daughter should love her father, yet _these_ children—they had loved their father even as he shoved them away, turned aside from the memories they awoke within him. _How much stronger are they than me?

_The lilting of a piano drew Maria from her reverie, the notes traipsing over one another, the sound of the steady bass half rising beneath the quicker, higher tones, all that could only be now played by _him. _On the swiftest notes, she thought she heard a fumble, a searching for the proper keys, but she could not be certain. The piano had been one of the many things her mother had meant to teach her..._

_The deep memories washed over Maria, the images of her face and dark hair, so very similar to that woman surrounded by her seven wonderful children. Yes, Isabella Rainer had been just as beautiful, and even through the water welling in her eyes, Maria could see her once more, feel the cheerfulness present in the woman who had given her life even as her own world had turned in on itself._

_The _Ronda alla Turca _filling the house muted the sound of her tears and her single word rasped through her tightening throat as she clutched the books to her chest, leaning against the book shelves as her legs no longer had strength: "Mother."_

Outside her window, night had fallen, and the waxing moon gleamed in the sky, sparkling stars surrounding the great white orb as Maria knelt, crossing herself. "Father," she whispered, her hands too weak to be folded, only able to clutch at the white comforter spread across her bed. "Father, I ask Your guidance, Your help. You brought me to Nonnberg Abbey, and now You have brought me to this family...But Father, I don't know what to do."

Leaning forward against her bed, Maria sniffed, the wetness of tears stinging her eyes. In this moment, she felt so abandoned, so isolated. "Please, Father, help me to find Your path. Do not leave me to search alone."


	35. Along a Dusty Road

**Chapter 35: Along a Dusty Road**

The final days of June had waned and July had risen, and with it the heat and humidity of the high summer. The children had been easily persuaded to pass most of their hours outdoors, away from the stuffy confines of the villa, and this morning was no exception. Kurt, as his choice of activity for the day, had decided on a walk into town. For a time, the boy had considered boating, but Louisa and Friedrich had burst into laughter at the suggestion, and Gretl had trembled until Maria had wrapped her arms about the girl, turning her face to Kurt to ask that he consider something else. He had not been pleased at the moment, but now even he was smiling as he walked by Friedrich. Her fringe already plastered to her forehead by sweat, Maria again relished in her foresight of cutting her hair short; she would be sweltering with it past her ears.

"Fräulein Maria," Gretl said, her voice rising from beside Maria, "where are we going?"

"Just into town," she said, reaching down to offer the girl her hand, despite the sweat that covered her palm as the child took her grasp. "Don't you think it's better at least to be outside with the breeze than in the house, with all that still air?" Gretl did not answer, but as Maria glanced to her, she grinned up at her governess.

"I'll assume that is a 'yes,' " Maria said, swinging her arm and drawing the child's upward as well to a giggle.

"Father?" the girl's voice came again. The word pounded in Maria's ears, and she hoped her hand neither tightened nor sweated. _Why is she calling him?_ But did she want him to remain so far away?

"Yes, Gretl?" Georg asked, turning to look over his shoulder to his youngest daughter—but was it her he found? No, his eyes rested upon a lovely young woman whose cheeks were flushed with the sun—

"...my hand, Father?" Georg shook his head as his steps beside Liesl slowed, now stopping as he waited for Gretl and Maria, bringing up the rear of the group.

"I'm sorry, darling," he said, smiling as the child reached his side. Falling in at the same pace beside her and Maria, he asked, "What did you say?" Even his daughter's voice had not been able to hold him from the depths of Maria's shining blue eyes, glowing with a new spark.

"Will you hold my hand?" Gretl asked again, reaching her right hand to her father.

"Isn't making Fräulein Maria's palm hot enough for you?" he asked, not bothering to hold his laughter as Gretl's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"But..." Her face turned from his, now looking forward to the children still in front of her. Yet her gaze came to her father once again as she felt his strong palm on her hair, turning her head upwards.

"Of course," Georg said, seizing her fingers in his own, the tiny digits wriggling in his grasp. "Why would I not want to hold the hand of such a lovely lady?"

Louisa fought the urge to turn back, even as Gretl's delighted giggles provided a reason to do so. Persuading Gretl had not been too difficult—she loved being near her father more than the rest of the children, if such a comparison were truly possible—but even Brigitta had worried the girl would forget her question.

_"Just ask Father to hold your hand," Brigitta whispered to her youngest sister. "You can do that."_

_"But why?" Gretl asked, setting her hands akimbo as she wrinkled her nose impatiently. "Why won't you tell me?"_

_"Because you wouldn't understand, Louisa said, tugging on one of the locks of hair that tumbled over Gretl's shoulders._

_"Why not?"_

_"You're too young," Brigitta said as she turned the girl around, pointing her index finger towards their governess, who was counting the children milling around her one last time, all the while trying to avoid any glance toward their father. "Now go on—we're about to leave."_

_Gretl scampered toward her governess, pausing to offer her two older sisters a curious gaze for a moment. But they waved her on, and she hurried forward as her dress flapped in the air, her tiny voice calling, "Fräulein Maria!"_

Beside the Captain, grateful for Gretl's small presence between them, Maria swallowed over her dry tongue. At the breakfast table that morning, she had felt as mortified as ever, feeling the touch of his skin beneath her fingers once again as her mind turned back to that day. _No,_ she had told herself, the excited words of the children flowing above her ears. _Why won't you forget?_

She had hardly been able to wait for the last of the children to finish the meal when she had announced it was time for them to be on their way, shoving her chair backwards with a scrape along the polished wooden floor. Most of the children had been through the door when Brigitta, directly in front of Maria, had paused, turning back to her father to speak those words Maria had feared to hear: "Father, will you come with us?" Baroness Schräder was nowhere to be seen, having not yet risen for the day, and as she had turned as well to the Captain, hoping to see him shake his head, Maria had found herself wishing—_wanting_ him to join the group.

Holding her eyes straight ahead in the bright sun, Maria's stomach tensed. _Well, you got what you wished for,_ she thought. _He came._ But then, why did she no longer feel the fear she had sensed in the dining room?

The journey along the road passed in silence for a time, broken by Gretl's excited laughter as Maria and Georg lifted her to leap in a graceful arch. The simple giggle of the child warmed Georg's heart, penetrating further than the joy of the sun could. Even as the girl simply walked, skipping occasionally to catch the longer strides of her father and governess, kicking up a storm of dust when she did, he felt that smile he now enjoyed creep across his face. Yet his mind did not want to think on his daughter—or any of his children—but on the young woman—the _lovely_ young woman—separated from him only by Gretl.

Maria had not felt such peace in years, not that she remembered. The sunshine streamed from the clear blue sky, warmer than she might have liked, particularly with the moisture in the air, yet she could not complain. Her heart was lighter than it had been in years, fuller and easier. Her eyes closing for a moment as she breathed deeply, the scent of the blooming summer flowers and leaves of the trees that lined the road. The tiny hand she clasped tugged on her own, pulling her from her thoughts. "Yes, Gretl?" she asked, raising the child's arm in response as she let her gaze fall to the little girl.

"Where are we going?" she asked again, her lips frowning.

"Just into town," Maria said, laughing as a welcome breeze drifted across the dirt road. "It hasn't changed since you last asked."

"But _where_ in town?" Gretl asked. "Last time we walked to town—" Her voice ended suddenly as her tiny face turned up to her father, a small fear written across her sun reddened features. Her grasp loosened in his hand, and after a moment, Georg's own eyes drifted to her.

"What is it, Gretl?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing at his daughter's silence. She withdrew her hand from his while her steps ceased, waving for him to come down to her height as she pulled on her governess's hand once more, drawing her to a stop as well.

Balancing himself on his heels, one hand resting on the dusty road to hold his crouch steady, Georg's face broke into a smile as Gretl's words, whispered around her cupped hand, filled his ear. "No," he said, ruffling the child's hair with his free hand as his eyes came to find Maria's, her own hand still clutching Gretl's. "Nothing will happen to Fräulein Maria because she took you into Salzburg in your play clothes." His words failed for a moment as he simply gazed at Maria, covered in a ray of sunshine that gleamed on her hair. "I've learned not to come between you and your _fräulein_."

"Good," Georg heard Gretl say, her voice echoing as though from a distance. He felt he should have looked to her, but he would not glance away from Maria, not when her eyes had finally found his and she did not turn from him as she so often did. They seemed so blue, as if they went on forever, deep as the sea he loved so much and treasured with all his being, sparkling as the sun that shone upon the gently cresting waves...

"Gretl!" one of the older girls called, and Georg's face jerked away, toward the group of children that had journeyed on far before them. Liesl beckoned for the child fiercely. "Why don't you walk with us," she said, waving for her to come forward.

"But—I thought..." Gretl began, her face turning up to Maria's for a moment as her voice trailed into a confused silence as her mouth dropped into a small pout.

"Come on, Gretl," Louisa said, turning beside her older sister to beg the youngest to come to them, dropping her hand that was struggling to tie her kerchief tighter about her unruly braid. "We'll see if we can find any baby rabbits alongside the road."

Gretl needed no more invitation, pulling her hand from her _fräulein's_ to rush forward, a cloud of dust rising along her path. The child's name almost rose in Maria's throat as a protest to call her back...She was alone, as alone with the Captain as she had ever been—yet why did she welcome that churning in her stomach that even yesterday, she had dreaded?

Her attention returning to him, she smiled, for he was still crouched near the road, though his face had turned from following his daughter to look at her once more, an intense gaze. Her hand was offered to him before she knew what she did, and the time had passed for her to draw it back. "Here, Captain," she said quietly, blood rushing strangely in her veins.

His grasp was warm, and a bit sticky with sweat as he took her hand, but it was with his own strength that he forced himself to his feet, for she hardly felt him pull on her hand at all. As he stood straight, though, Maria stumbled; she had leaned too far back to compensate for his weight. As he had stood from that crouch, she had straightened as well, and now lost her balance. She had already bitten her lip to hold in her grunt at the pain that would come when she hit the dirt road—the bruises soon to rise on her thighs would certainly not be the worst she had endured—and had closed her eyes from habit, but the quick burning ache did not come.

A gentle hand caught the small of her back, pulling her forward once more, and as Maria opened her eyes, she found the Captain's face focused upon her, nearer than ever before. The distance between them had nearly vanished, and she wondered that he could not hear the thundering pumping of her heart. His face was so firm, that countenance speaking volumes of conviction, strength, honor...and another emotion she found she could not place. She almost swallowed a breath, the air shuddering in her throat—what had she just hoped for?

"Easy, Fräulein," Georg said lowly, not backing from the young woman he now held in his arms, wanting to draw her closer. So near, he felt he could fall into her eyes and lose himself completely, never finding his way out again. Yet would he despair over such a fate? At that moment, he did not know the answer. The heat of her body against his hand should have been stifling on the July morning, but he only wished to hold her tighter to him. _What has come over you, Georg? _he asked himself. Still, her eyes...they sparkled in a way he had never seen before, forcing his heart along quicker.

"Perhaps," Maria said, a stammer in her voice as her cheeks glowed, "perhaps we should catch up to the children." Her gaze dropped to the dirt path below, not trusting herself to hold his attention. What would he see?

"Perhaps," Georg agreed, hoping his voice did not convey his disappointment as he slowly took his hand from her back. Stepping away, he felt a small smile on his face and an exhilaration rush in his body, even while the flush on Maria's face burned brighter as she turned to resume her walk.

Even so flustered, she was beautiful.


	36. A Visit

**Chapter 36: A Visit**

"Ahh!" Louisa shrieked, ducking as Friedrich splashed a handful of water at her face from the fountain. "Stop it!" His hand dove into the water and another wave came up to soak her face, hair, and kerchief again, now covering the upper part of her dress. Ripping the cloth from her head, she wrung some of the water between her hands, launching the droplets at her brother who dodged them easily.

"What's going on?" Maria asked, turning to look down the edge of the fountain. The entire group sat along the stone edge, resting their legs; most had simply taken seats without a thought, though Marta and Gretl had insisted their father and governess sit by their sides.

"Friedrich keeps throwing water at me, Fräulein!" the girl said, leaning forward to catch Maria's eyes.

Even as she was about to speak, Maria paused as a deep laugh came from near her. "Don't worry, Louisa," the Captain said, glancing towards his daughter, whose braid hung dripping and limp over her shoulder. "I don't think Friedrich will try again." Friedrich wrinkled his nose at the quiet command, but did not dip his hand in the water again. "And in any case, you're certainly much cooler than any of the rest of us at the moment." His daughter only scowled, now lifting her braid to squeeze some of the water from it as well, streaming on to her already soaked back.

Maria had to agree with the Captain as she pushed some of her short fringe aside from her sweaty forehead. In fact, she did not think she would not quite mind if someone threw her into the fountain, but at the moment, she did not feel like testing that thought. Squinting in the sun, she could hardly read the time marked by the hands of the clock in the town square. But the bright disc had risen high in the sky, and the day was surely approaching noon. Slipping her hands beneath Gretl's arms, she lifted the girl and set her to stand on the cobbled square. "I think it's time we were heading back."

"But it's not even afternoon yet!" Kurt called, his sun reddened face frowning as he leaned forward.

"Perhaps," Georg said, stopping Maria's words another time, "but I would have thought you would be interested in lunch after this long walk." Most of the children scrambled from the edge of the fountain at the prospect of lunch—breakfast was already long forgotten in their stomachs—though Louisa paused long enough to scoop a handful of water over Friedrich's head. He shivered as the cool liquid dripped along his spine, and his sister smiled.

"Ha!" she said, running from him as he reached to splash her another time, a dripping path left behind her from her dress. Georg had to smile at his son and daughter; more than any of the other children, they seemed to take pride in the antagonism they caused in one other.

"Do we have everyone?" Maria called as she turned to look over the group of children behind her; Liesl and Brigitta were speaking quietly, as were Friedrich and Kurt, while Louisa was still furiously trying to dry her kerchief. Marta had threaded her hand into Maria's, the hot grip not a bother despite the day, and Gretl had offered her hand to her father, though her eyelids were drooping. As the girl's head listed from side to side, Maria wondered how much time would pass until the Captain was carrying the yawning child.

The stone streets of Salzburg were a welcome change from the dusty road that had led them into the city; the dirt from the journey was easy to see on Louisa and Friedrich's faces, wet and smeared by the water drenched them both. But every face was dirty, and would surely be in need of washing before Frau Schmidt would let them take a seat at the table for the noon meal, even the Captain's. Yet his features were still regal beneath the smudges of dust—

"Fräulein Maria," Marta said, pulling impatiently on her governess's hand, "where are we going?"

"Just back home," Maria said, glancing down to smile at the dark haired child, loath for a moment that she had looked away. "I thought I had said that."

"But why are we going _this_ way?" Marta asked, her free arm waving at the road.

"There's no reason we need take the some route home. After all, if you're going to be covered in dust again, darling"—Maria reached to wipe a finger's worth of the light dust coating from Marta's face—"do you want it to be from the same road?"

"I guess not," the child said, a small grin on her face. "We are messy, aren't we, Fräulein Maria?"

"Yes, we are, Marta," Maria said. She would have wiped another smear of that same dust from the girl's face, but her face came up as she heard a woman call her name.

"Maria!" the voice called again, and Maria's face turned to follow the sound, a smile on her lips as she found a glimpse of who had spoken.

"Sister Catherine!" Maria said, dropping Marta's hand to approach the iron gate of the abbey. "It's lovely to see you again." She hadn't intended their path to take them past the abbey, but she had forgotten where she was for the moment. The older woman's hand reached through the bars to grasp Maria's.

"I'm pleased it seems we're seeing you under—different circumstances," the nun said with a small laugh returned by Maria, who glanced over her shoulder to the family behind her.

"Oh, forgive me, Sister Catherine," she said, shaking her head as she stepped back towards the road, a wash of heat rising over her. Every one of the children's faces were confused, for a moment wondering just where they were. "I should introduce you."

"Please come in first," the nun said, lifting the latch with a small screech. She drew the heavy, rusting gate back, beckoning for the family to enter with a wave of her hand. Standing aside, Maria could not help but be delighted as the younger children's eyes opened wide, their faces turning upward to the massive stone structure; Gretl's mouth even dropped open in awe as she passed through the gate, clutching her father's hand tighter as their footsteps sounded time and again on the ancient paving stones. Stepping through after the Captain, Maria pushed the gate closed once more. Just stepping through the gate, Georg could not stop his hand from tensing around his youngest daughter's.

"Well now," Sister Catherine said, backing up as she surveyed all the children once more, "I'm sure you'll all feel a bit better in the shade." Several heads nodded, and Maria smiled as she walked to the nun's side.

"Thank you, Sister," she said. Turning to the children, she continued, "These are my charges—the Von Trapp children. Shall I introduce you, or shall you do the honors yourself, children, provided you offer your own name." Louisa bit her lip, wanting to laugh even as Brigitta kicked her foot.

"Well, I would certainly hope you could trust them enough to state their own names, Fräulein," Georg said, bending down to scoop Gretl into his arms. It was a comfort to hold her tightly, as if she could comfort the strange sense of nervousness; he felt...strange—out of place, as though he was where he did not belong, a location that should have been forbidden him.

"I think I can now, Captain," Maria said, smiling at the memory of her fast day in the household. "I was not so fortunate on my first day." Reaching over to tap Gretl on the nose, receiving a giggle in response, she added, "Why don't you start, Gretl?"

"Me?" the girl asked, her eyes widening in surprise as Georg shifted her in his grasp. All her life, she had ever been the last child to do anything, except perhaps when it came to being put to bed.

"Of course," her governess said. "Such a lovely young lady must be permitted to begin." Liesl smiled as she glanced down to the worn stones beneath her feet; from her first day, Fräulein Maria had been more than a friend to Gretl. She had spoken to the girl as though she were a child rather than simply another person under her care; she had given Gretl the love the girl had never had.

The child grinned as she clasped her hands tighter around her father's neck and he kissed her cheek. "I'm Gretl," she said, closing her eyes in a refined manner, "and I'm five years old..." The rest of the children introduced themselves in turn, resisting the urge to step forward as they gave their names. As Liesl finished, Georg smiled tightly.

"I'm Captain von Trapp," he said, nodding his head to Sister Catherine. "Forgive me for not offering the courtesy of a hand shake, but..." He cocked his head towards the yawning girl in his arms, her head now resting on his shoulder, and the nun nodded with a smile. The tension rising within him quieted even with that simple gesture, as though he had done nothing for which he need be embarrassed.

"That's perfectly fine, Captain," she said. "I would say—"

"Aren't you hot, Sister Catherine?" a small voice asked, and Maria glanced down to see Marta's brow knitted over eyes that scanned the nun's black habit, bathed in the bright sun.

"Marta," Maria began, a gentle reprimand in her voice, but Sister Catherine's hand gently reached out to take Maria's.

"It's all right," she said. "Children are meant to be curious." Turning to Marta, she smiled. "Not really, my dear. One becomes used to it after a while."

"Used to what?" a sharp voice asked, and Maria straightened, swallowing as the sure footsteps that accompanied that speaker came nearer. She could only pray that she would not find herself entangled in another disagreement with the nun.

"Nothing, Sister Berthe," Sister Catherine said, turning on her heel to catch the Mistress of Novices with her gaze, hardly noticing Sister Margaretta following close behind. "I was just answering the comment of one of Maria's lovely children."

Even with those few words, Maria could not quench the rising warmth in her chest—_Maria's children._ They were wonderful children, and their mother and the Captain had truly been blessed with the birth of each and every one. If she had ever dreamed of a family of her own, she would have only wished for one like the Von Trapps, to have such marvelous children and a husband as loving and honorable as the Captain. Maria knew she should have been embarrassed, angry at herself for such a thought, but only a smile spread across her lips. To love such a man...

"Fräulein Maria?" That voice seemed far away, quiet even as she turned to find who had spoken, yet her gaze landed on the Captain. Even that voice, already distant, faded as she could not look away. His eyes appeared to go on forever, dancing in the late morning sun, and beneath, his mouth seemed to be twitching to a smile. "Fräulein Maria!" The voice was louder this time, and a small hand tugged on her shirt.

"Hmm?" Maria's tongue was unable to form a word as she followed the voice finding Brigitta at her side, one of her hands clutching her sleeve. Maria shook her head as she blinked. "I'm sorry, dear. What did you say?"

"I think someone wants to speak with you, Fräulein Maria," the dark haired girl said, turning her face over her shoulder to a shadowed form, the woman's face further hidden by the edges of her long black wimple.

"I wondered if I had heard you, Maria," the familiar, aged voice said, and despite the sun behind her, Maria could just glimpse the outline of a smile on the old nun's face.

"Reverend Mother," she said quietly, drawing her sleeve from Brigitta's grasp. Walking to the nun, she knelt carefully on the burning stones, pressing her lips to the ring set on gnarled fingers. As she rose, Maria found she could see the woman's face clearly now, the age that still blighted her features.

"I trust I am not seeing you under the same circumstances as before," the Reverend Mother said cautiously as she leaned to Maria, her eyes flickering to Captain von Trapp for an instant. There was no reason for him to hear her words; his letter had spoken his contrition well enough for her mind without her needing to see it. In any case, she could see the unease written on his features.

"Oh, no," Maria said, a slight laugh in her words. "We were just taking a walk into town. I had lost where I was until Sister Catherine called my name from behind the abbey gate."

"I would believe that," Sister Berthe said lowly, the sound just finding Georg's ears through another of Gretl's gapes. He had to agree with the nun; Maria had never struck him as one to possess a good memory. She was many things—kind, talented, loving, beautiful, and, he feared, forgetful.

Maria flushed at the comment, even as she felt the Reverend Mother squeeze her fingers. "Well, whatever the reason," Sister Margaretta said, narrowing her eyes at Sister Berthe, "it is lovely to see you again, Maria, and looking so happy." Stepping around Sister Berthe, she took Maria's hand as the Reverend Mother released it, holding it tightly as she leaned to kiss the girl's cheek. "The abbey is hardly the same without you, my dear." Maria's cheeks colored again, and Sister Margaretta laughed quietly as she pulled away, turning her attention to the children. "Now, who do we have here?"

Maria waved her hand for the children to introduce themselves again, though by now Gretl had closed her eyes in her father's arms, her breaths steadied as she drifted into a light doze. Juggling her in his grasp, Georg offered the child's name as well as his own to nods from the two nuns, and nearly a smile from Sister Berthe. Yet the Reverend Mother let the words fade in her ears as her gaze came to rest on Maria.

Her face was radiant as she stood there, surrounded by the children, a broad smile on her face as one of the younger girls ran to clutch her hands about her waist, two dark braids falling down the child's back. There was a joy in Maria's eyes at the sudden contact, a happiness the Reverend Mother had seen fill Maria on but a few occasions during her time at the abbey. A pride, almost, that Maria could not hide whenever her gaze came to see one of those seven children she had been nearly terrified to begin to care for.

_No,_ the Reverend Mother thought, tucking her hands beneath the sleeves of her habit, _something more than pride—love._ But it did not fill Maria's eyes merely as she held her gaze on the children. When her attention had lingered on Captain von Trapp for a moment, that same expression had consumed her entire countenance, a tenderness that she was unaccustomed to seeing in the girl. The Reverend Mother had observed it once before on Maria: that day she had returned to the Von Trapp household. Confusion had been her own emotion at seeing the happiness in Maria, but surrounded by the source of that happiness, the Reverend Mother had to hold her quiet smile. That young girl still clasping her hands about Maria's waist despite the July heat, her eyes were glowing with the same love as Maria's, as though she embraced her mother.

Though she had never seen the Von Trapps until this day, the Reverend Mother could not envision the family with Maria missing. A source of strength for every member would vanish at her departure, as would the peace that she could also see filling the young woman before her. _I do not think we shall be seeing Maria in a postulant's habit again,_ she thought as Maria knelt to hug the child holding her so close. And rather than the sadness she ever felt at the loss of a postulant, the Reverend Mother sensed only a joy for Maria welling in her heart. Seeing the grin on the child's face at such a simple gesture, she could not draw the despondance from herself. _She will soon know where she belongs._


	37. Final Rehearsals

**Chapter 37: Final Rehearsals**

"...but firmly they compel us to say goodbye—cuckoo—to you."

"Good," Maria said as her hands came together in quiet applause from her place on the grass before the line of children. The later portion of the song had already been worked and rehearsed until each child knew not only his or her part, but that of the siblings on either side. "Wonderful. I think you've really got it now." Marta and Gretl beamed at the compliment, bounding out from behind their siblings to spread their skirts in small curtsies for their governess as she laughed.

"I hope we would," Louisa said, rolling her eyes as she dropped to sit in the sun-stained grass. "We've only been working on it for what..." She glanced to Liesl, who was stretching her arms over her head as she yawned; the day had started too early for her liking. "...two weeks?"

"Something like that," Friedrich said, taking a seat near his sister. "I almost want tomorrow to come so that we'll never have to sing this song again!"

"Has it been that bad, Friedrich?" Maria asked, smiling to herself. She could see why he had been labeled impossible—by Fräulein Josephine, was it? His moods could change rapidly, a thing to be expected from a fourteen year-old.

"No," he said, leaning back to rest his weight on his hands, buried in the grass, "but I'd rather go on to something else, Fräulein."

"It's just one more day. You can manage that." A growl sounded from Maria's stomach, unexpected in the calm surrounding the Untersberg, and with it came a few badly hidden laughs of the children. "I guess it's time for lunch," Maria said, pushing herself from the cool ground.

A bit of distance from their rehearsal site, a blanket already lay spread out, weighted on two corners by their picnic baskets. Friedrich and Kurt were the first of the children to reach the closest one, pushing back the lid to seize ham sandwiches and gleaming red apples. The remaining children claimed their lunches in a calmer fashion, Louisa pausing to hand a sandwich and apple to Marta and Gretl before taking her own.

After Maria pulled out her own lunch, she crossed the blanket to the second basket, setting a brimming pitcher of pink lemonade on the blanket before she continued, now removing eight cups. Two she placed by her own lunch before she handed the remaining glasses in the stack to Marta, who took her own before passing them on. The younger girls had settled themselves on the blanket, Liesl between and Maria across from them, while Louisa and Brigitta sat on the grass a little ways off, eating their sandwiches with few words. "When will we be performing, Fräulein Maria?" Gretl asked as Maria took one of the glasses by her side to fill with lemonade.

"Whenever your father decides it's time for you to go to bed," Maria said, offering the child her glass and only letting go once both small hands were wrapped about it tightly.

"But when?" Maria smiled as she passed the pitcher to Liesl to pour a drink for herself and Marta; her own glass she would fill at the end.

"I don't know," she said, crossing her legs beneath the skirt of her dress. "I'm certain you don't want to say good night at the same time when he sends you to bed tonight."

"No!" the child's voice came quickly from around her glass.

"Then I really can't tell you, Gretl." Raising her sandwich for a bite, Maria felt her stomach ease immediately as she swallowed. _I doubt they'll _want _to say good night,_ she thought as she lifted her hand to brush a few strands of hair from her face. _They'll want to be downstairs until they're asleep on their feet._

"Fräulein Maria," Liesl said, a frown on her face as Maria glanced to her, "do you think father will be happy that we're singing in front of all his guests. He told Uncle Max he doesn't want us singing in public."

"Oh, Liesl," Maria said with a shake of her head, "this is not the same as the Salzburg Folk Festival. Your father will hardly mind his family performing in front of guests he has selected."

"You mean the guests Baroness Schräder selected," Louisa mumbled, her mouth filled with ham and lettuce.

"Louisa," Maria said, her attention traveling to the girl who flinched beneath her governess's expression.

"But it's true," she said after she swallowed her bite of sandwich. "Father would never have given this party if it weren't for her."

"Nevertheless, you should only speak kindly about her. Your father clearly thinks very highly of her." Taking another bite of her lunch, Maria let the growing words of the children rise around her. Louisa's quiet mutterings about Baroness Schräder were still easy to hear; the girl did not bother with holding her voice low.

None of the children had a liking for the Baroness, _that_ much had been apparent almost immediately. When they had stood dripping on the terrace, shivering from the water soaking every inch of them and their father's anger, they had examined her with unpleasant gazes. But even dismissing that as an awkward first meeting, the tricks they had played on the woman in her absence confirmed what Maria had seen—they simply did not like her.

And from what she had seen of Baroness Schräder's time with the children, the woman tried her best to push them to the side, to spend as much of her time with only the Captain. It had been difficult in the past few weeks, for outside the hours he passed in his study with her planning the party and the time after the children went to bed, the Captain had spent nearly all his free time with his children, laughing and running and playing with them—being the father it seemed he had once been. Yet Baroness Schräder always seemed annoyed by the distraction the children offered him, the ease with which they drew his attention from her.

_Will she ever be the mother they need?_ Maria thought as she chewed the last bit of her sandwich. She hoped so; the children were in such desperate need of a complete family.

The Captain had used that word but a few times before, perhaps only once. _"Max, my family does not sing in public."_ She wondered that her knees had not given way as he said that—his family, for she had been singing in that moment as well. Had he merely forgotten her? No, the gaze he had fixed her with—Maria knew he had not. But then, why that word? She was not a member of the family; no, she was merely an employee, a servant in the household with less of a rank than Frau Schmidt. Then why did she feel it had been weeks since he had treated her as such? Even that first day she had returned, his gaze had been softer, his words gentler...as though he had something he wished to say.

"...agree, Fräulein Maria?" one of the girls asked, and Maria jerked into the afternoon sunshine once more.

"Hmm?" Her lips dipped to a frown as she tried to decide which child had spoken—she hadn't been listening, had been allowing her mind to drift. How often did she permit herself to do that now?

"They do sound horrible, don't you think, Fräulein Maria?" Brigitta said again, turning her face from her governess to her brothers. They had sat themselves a short distance from their sisters and governess on the grass, farther than Louisa and Brigitta, and were singing a sloppy version of _Edelweiss_ through the remnants of their lunch. Maria couldn't hold her grin, for what would their father think if he could hear them now? _That he wouldn't have to worry about Max entering them in the festival,_ she thought.

Nearby, Louisa and Brigitta had joined their brothers, though they sang on the proper pitches. Liesl pulled the youngest girls closer to her, and Maria leaned back peacefully. Her first day the Von Trapp home, she would never have believed she would see these seven children sitting so calmly, simply enjoying themselves. Those first few hours, they had been fixed in her mind as almost made miserable by their father, and now they would do anything with him, and he with them.

Maria would never believe that a man could undergo such a change, and so quickly—not if she had been forbidden to bear it witness. The day she was dismissed, he had been the cold sea captain who called his children with a whistle, who hardly seemed to love them. And yet two days later...she had not recognized him for a moment. The cool façade had vanished, revealing that father buried deep within, and something else. Something that quickened her heart when she stood near him—

"Fräulein?" Liesl asked, glancing over her shoulder to her governess. The elder woman's face had a curiously calm expression, her eyes distant as if in a dream. "Fräulein Maria?" she asked, louder this time.

Maria blinked as she let her gaze fall on Liesl. "Yes?" she asked, her voice weak.

"Is something wrong?" Ruffling her hand through Marta's hair, Liesl grinned as she tilted her head towards her siblings. "Are they singing that badly, Fräulein?"

"Oh, no," Maria said with a shake of her head, smiling as the mixing voices of Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, and Brigitta came to her ears once again. "They're lovely. Leastwise, Louisa and Brigitta are. I didn't sleep very well last night." Turning to Friedrich and Kurt, who had stood from the ground and were now chasing one another through the cool mountain air, Maria smiled. Most of the children seemed to have finished their lunch, even the little ones.

"However," Maria continued, unfolding her legs to stand, "I think you've done marvelously today. So wonderful, I think you all deserve a reward." Walking to Marta, she bent to tap the girl on the nose, and the girl giggled, her looped braids bouncing by her face. "And you're it," Maria said.

Gretl bounded away from her sister, and Liesl struggled to her feet as Brigitta and Louisa laughed. They covered their smiles with their hands as Marta's eyes narrowed at them, a grin on her own face as she launched herself after them. As the afternoon passed, the laughter of the seven children and their governess rose in the warm sun as they ran.

* * *

Maria tried to hold her yawn as she collapsed back on to her bedspread, wishing she had the energy to lift it and sink beneath its weight. Yet she was almost too exhausted to kick her slip her shoes from her feet. Two nights in a row, her sleep had been fitful and restless. The picnic on the Untersberg the day before had not helped matters in the slightest. In the fading light of the day that splashed through the windows of her bedroom, though, that want of rest was overwhelming. 

_At least the rehearsals went well,_ she thought, closing her eyes. She was confident the Captain would be proud of his children, for they had the words perfect, and the dance they had jumbled together would certainly be enough to make any person laugh. The second child in line kicking the first, _that_ had been Friedrich's idea. If she had not been there to hear his suggestion, she would have known it to be his. The dimness of sleep settling on her mind, Maria smiled; they were all wonderful, even the impossible Friedrich. She would miss them so terribly once September arrived.

_She had been looking for the children for the past hour. Why she searched for them in the corridors of the abbey, she did not know, but she knew she must—she _had _to find the children. The gravest emptiness had been filling her since the day she had returned, as though she had allowed herself to make a terrible mistake. Collapsing against the stone of the abbey wall, she sighed as she wrapped her arms about her waist, her breaths shuddering._

_Everyone she loved Maria knew she had left behind when she had returned. Oh, she dearly loved the nuns of Nonnberg Abbey, even Sister Berthe, but it was simply not the love of that wonderful family. Liesl had blossomed into a lovely young woman, growing to adulthood while still enjoying the time she had to be a child. Friedrich was a boy turning into a young man who still had so very much to learn._

_And Louisa, ever the trickster—Maria could not help but smile at the memory of the girl. She had never fully understood Louisa, and did not think she ever would. Kurt was just reaching that age where the reality of being a child would begin to conflict with the desire to be an adult. Brigitta's curiosity had never ceased to amaze Maria, the girl's intelligence and wisdom both far beyond what one might think of a ten year-old. Marta was ever the quiet one, waiting and willing for her siblings to go on before her. Gretl had always been a handful as the youngest, needing the attention her mother had never been able to give to her._

_Every child was different, and she loved each of them so deeply, she felt her heart ache at the emptiness. Everyone she loved, she had forsaken. Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, Gretl—and the Captain. Her breaths stopped, for what had she just thought, that she loved the Captain as greatly as the children? "No," she whispered, her knees buckling as she shrank to the worn stones of the hall floor. "No, Maria, don't think that." The tears were on her face before she could battle against them, hot on her skin as she scrubbed at them. No, she could not, she _would _not cry, not now._

_Heavy, certain footsteps echoed in the ancient hall, a low laughter traveling with each footfall. A shadow fell over her face as a hand reached out to her, at once appearing strong and gentle, but entirely requesting her acceptance. "I thought I just might find you here," a voice said softly, and her face rose. _His _voice, _his _eyes..._

Maria's eyes opened to her bedroom, the last of the sunshine fading to night as it drew away from her room. She had finally slept for a time, it seemed. "What are you doing?" she asked herself as she sat up on the comforter, blinking slowly. Running her fingers through her mussed hair, she breathed slowly. "Why don't you stop?"

A quiet hand knocked on her door as Maria put a hand to her temple, rubbing at the ache she could sense forming just beneath her skin. "Come in," she said, squinting at the light pooling on the carpet as the door opened.

"Fräulein," Liesl said, stepping through the door, "you should start getting ready. The guests will be arriving soon."

"Thank you, Liesl," Maria said, forcing a smile as she slid from her mattress to stand, wobbling as her feet touched the floor. "I'll be over to see to Marta and Gretl in a few minutes."

"Can I be of any help, Fräulein?" Liesl asked.

"Hmm? Oh, no, thank you," Maria said, shaking her head as a small throb shot through her skull. "I'll be fine."

"I'll start getting Marta and Gretl dressed," Liesl said, making her way back through the door, beginning to draw it closed.

"You needn't do that Liesl," Maria began, but the girl simply smiled.

"You have enough to worry about, Fräulein," she said with a small laugh. "Besides, they're so excited, I don't know how one person could handle them alone."

"They have been rather eager for tonight to come," Maria said, dropping her hand. A serious expression came over her face. "Thank you very much, Liesl. For everything. You've been so much help in the past few weeks—"

"It has been my pleasure, Fräulein Maria," the girl said, waving aside her governess's praise. "It's all I could really do after what I said to you when we first met." A half-smile crossed her face as they both remembered her claim that she didn't need a governess. "But you really should start getting ready."

As the door closed, Maria let her eyelids fall slowly. The ache was just beneath the bone, as likely to fade as it was to remain, and opening her eyes once again, it seemed that the fading might truly be possible. Crossing the floor to her wardrobe, she sighed as she pulled the door open. Lifting the hanger with its blue dress from the rod, her stomach turned gently; she had never been to something so grand before. Letting the wardrobe door fall closed, Maria breathed easier, very much pleased with the knowledge that her evening would be spent with the children, and no one else.


	38. A Dance for My Heart

**Chapter 38: A Dance for My Heart**

"Look!" Brigitta exclaimed as she leaned over the railing of the corridor, her dark tresses falling about her shoulders. "The guests have started to arrive!" Quick sets of feet pattered on the carpet as Gretl and Marta rushed to join her, running from their room with their hair half-arranged.

"Oh!" Gretl squealed, her hands clutching the bars of the railing as her eyes widened. In the foyer, their father stood at Baroness Schräder's side, offering a quiet word of welcome to the first guests before he turned to make their introduction to the Baroness. The medals from his service in the Imperial Navy glittered on his tuxedo in the bright light glowing above, and Brigitta thought she caught him glancing up, a half-smile crossing his face before he turned to greet another arrival.

"All right," Maria said, her voice weary as she emerged from the hall of the children's rooms, "I understand you're excited, but please let me finish with your hair, girls." Marta turned back to her governess with a sigh, but Gretl held tight to the railing. "Gretl," Maria said lowly, stepping behind the girl to rest her hand on her back. The child's face came up with a pleading frown. "It won't take that long, I promise." Brushing the girl's short fringe aside, Maria lightly pressed her lips to Gretl's forehead. "You'll be back in five minutes, and just think of how many more people there will be for you to see."

"Really?" Gretl asked, her eyebrows rising hopefully as she turned, straightening her neck as she took her hands from the thin bars.

"Really," Maria said with a nod. Seeing the hand reaching out for her own, Gretl let Maria's larger fingers wrap around her own, no longer protesting as her governess led her back to her bedroom to finish the final touches on her hair.

Maria's eyes had lingered on the Captain for a moment before she had tugged on Gretl's hand, his face clear to see despite the distance between them. He had appeared so regal in that moment—exactly as she might believe as sea captain would be on an evening such as this. Yet there was only one portion of the image before her that could not draw a smile to her face and warm her heart: Baroness Schräder at the Captain's side.

* * *

"Well," Maria said as the children gathered about the delicate doors that opened from the ballroom on to the terrace, "has it been worth the wait?" Seven heads nodded without glancing to her, and though she could not see their expressions, she knew every single child was grinning broadly. 

"Yes, Fräulein," Liesl said after a moment, glancing over her shoulder and confirming Maria's thought. Her expression lessened swiftly, though. "Do you really think Father will let me stay?"

Maria settled her hand on the girl's arm, squeezing it gently. "It certainly won't do any harm for you to ask. He'll have to admit you're turning into a lovely young woman eventually." Maria's own gaze turned in to the ballroom; in the hour since she had brought the children downstairs, it seemed that most of the guests had arrived. She had never thought she would see the house so full to bursting with people.

Though she had not expected to, Maria did not recognize a single person in the ballroom, and from their wide-eyed gazes, neither did the children as yet. For herself, Maria had been certain that she would only know the Baroness, Herr Detweiler, and the Captain, none of whom she anticipated seeing through the course of the evening. The Captain and the Baroness had more important business to attend to than visiting the children on the terrace, and if anything, Herr Detweiler would be following on the Captain's heels, still attempting to convince him to permit the children to sing in the Festival. Truthfully, she doubted the children would have anything more than a glimpse of their father until they bid the guests good night.

Despite the night air, cool even in July, and the light fabric of her dress, Maria suddenly felt stifled, as though she could not catch her breath. _The heat from the ballroom,_ she decided, stepping back from the children. "Liesl," she said, catching the girl's arm and attention once more.

"Yes?" Liesl asked, turning to her governess.

"I'm going to be in the garden for a bit. Can you watch out for the younger children?" That quiet throb in her skull she had hoped would fade had not, pounding again as she spoke.

"Yes, Fräulein, but why?" Her eyebrows came together in confusion.

"It's a bit warm here, and I think the quiet would be a welcome change." She smiled gently at the girl. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

"All right," Liesl said, her eyes following Maria as she crossed the terrace, disappearing into the tall hedges that lined the path into the garden, the gentle click of her shoes on the marble muted.

"Where is Fräulein Maria going?" Louisa asked as her sister turned back to the ballroom.

"Into the garden. She said—"

"Wonderful," Friedrich said lowly, a scowl on his face as he glanced across the room before them, one person near indistinguishable from another. "Herr Zeller."

Liesl followed his gaze, the rest of her words forgotten as she caught sight of the man, his face in an unpleasant expression as always. "Father invited him? I can't believe he would do that. He can't stand him!"

"Somehow, I doubt Father extended the invitation," Louisa said as the mustached man clicked his heels together in greeting to a man and woman already in the ballroom, a quick conversation beginning. "He's never liked the man. Anyway, Baroness Schräder was the one who selected most of the guests."

Shaking her head, Liesl stepped back from her brothers and sisters, walking to the second door to the ballroom. A few footsteps followed her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Friedrich beside her. Brigitta's eyes trailed after her oldest brother and sister, but their words were too low for her to hear. Her face turning to the ballroom again, she sighed, wishing she was old enough to be among those lucky enough to be dancing. "The women look so beautiful," she said, turning to look at her second brother, still standing across the way.

Kurt wrinkled his nose at the women in their long flowing gowns, many of their shoulders bare as they spun to the graceful, lilting waltz bowed from the strings of the orchestra. "I think they look ugly."

"You just say that because you're scared of them," Louisa said, smirking at him.

"Silly, only grown-up men are scared of women!" His face scrunched indignantly at her suggestion, and as he glanced up at her, he wished she wasn't so much taller than him. He wouldn't be scared of women until he was Friedrich's age, when he started to think about things differently.

"I think the men look beautiful," Gretl said suddenly, her small voice drifting upwards from where she stood by Brigitta and Marta.

Laughing, Louisa asked, "How would you know?" Gretl closed her eyes as she let her nose rise in the air while at her side, Marta giggled. Louisa just smiled at her two youngest sisters. Neither of them would be able to remember the parties that had been given while their mother had been alive. Even if she thought parties were a waste of time—and with all the effort spent on primping and preparing oneself for such a short evening, Louisa _did_ think so—she was glad that they were enjoying themselves. It was a happiness they deserved after the childhood they had lived.

"Look!" Marta exclaimed suddenly, thrusting out her arm with her index finger pointed, her eyes fixed on a older woman in a dress of pale, rose colored silk. "That lady's in pink! Why couldn't Fräulein Maria wear it?"

"Because that woman is also more than sixty years old," Louisa said, smiling again. "Things change as you get older—and not just once. We wouldn't have let Fräulein Maria wear purple, either."

At the second door that opened from the ballroom to the terrace, Liesl bit her lip to hide her giggle. That was one thing she could not imagine—Fräulein Maria wearing purple, trapped in a dress cut in the manner such a color required on a woman so young. Their governess was too much a tomboy to enjoy having herself just _seen_ in a gown of that sort if she could avoid it. Even their mother with her refined background would have been hard pressed to want such opulence.

"It's almost like nothing has changed," Liesl said to Friedrich, who leaned against the opposite side of the door frame.

"What?" he asked, his gaze drifting from the ballroom to her.

"Everything now...it's so very much like when Mother was alive." The music, the rustling of fine fabrics, the heat of the guests filling the entire villa, it was all so familiar. Their parents had given many parties, even in the months that lead to their mother's death, until the first of them had caught the fever. From that moment, _everything_ had changed, but now...It was almost the same—even their father when he was near Fräulein Maria.

"Maybe," her brother said, letting his eyes go back to the ballroom, drifting to their father. "Except then, Father didn't appear as though he wanted to throttle Herr Zeller." Liesl's face darkened in her agreement, an expression that deepened as she landed her gaze on her father and Baroness Schräder, her arm threaded through his. Liesl's lips turned in a scowl that she could not hide, her stomach turning. The looks the Baroness was offering him were almost simpering, meant entirely to entice him to her.

"Do you think he even cares for her?" she asked her brother quietly.

He turned his face to her a bit, his eyes confused. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think he cares for Baroness Schräder," Liesl said, clasping her hands behind her back as she leaned heavily against the frame of the door. "I think he did before, because I don't understand why he would bring her here to visit us otherwise, or why he would give this party for her, but I don't think he does anymore."

"Now you've _really_ lost me," Friedrich said, his attention returning to the slowly shifting crowd in the gilded room just beyond the threshold where they stood.

"But I do think Father is in love," she continued, her voice dropping as she stretched her fingers in the cool air of the evening. "Just not with the Baroness—I think he loves Fräulein Maria."

His eyes widening, Friedrich burst into laughter, doubling over as he covered his mouth; Liesl straightened, fixing him with an angry gaze. "What?"

"You've been listening to Louisa too much. Or perhaps it's because Brigitta told you to read Jane Eyre?" Friedrich still wheezed with a bit of laughter, calming as Liesl crossed her arms on her chest. "That's a nice story, but nothing happens the way things do in books."

"Well, I doubt it would be written in _any_ book if it was impossible," Liesl snapped, her dark hair twirling about her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said with a sigh, letting her gaze fall into the ballroom again. From across the room, their father raised his arm, waving at them, and she fancied he even winked at them. She brought her own arm up, returning the gesture before he turned to the Baroness again and her spirits dropped.

Turning to her brother, an apologetic smile came across her face, though it did not fill her eyes. "It's just...I don't want Father to be unhappy again." Rubbing her hands together, her words exhausted, Liesl wandered from the door to the dark terrace, illuminated only by the sparkles of the chandelier that splashed on the marble. There, the Baroness and whatever would come to pass did not exist.

_Well,_ she decided, _if I can't be inside, then I will have my fun out here._ Closing her eyes for a moment, she imagined Rolfe standing before, offering her a deep bow. Pretending she did not know him, she glanced over shoulders, as though the terrace was filled with a hundred other pretty girls, all vying for his eye. Yet when she turned to the imaginary young man, his hand was held out to _her_. Her hand came up to her heart, as she mouthed the word _Me? _Nodding her head happily, she curtsied and allowed him to set his hands around her waist and on her shoulder as she offered her own to him, and began to waltz. His fingers were so warm, and his grasp so sure—

"Liesl," Brigitta said, drawing her sister from her dream, "who are you dancing with?"

"Nobody," she answered as Rolfe's face vanished from her eyes. It had been a wonderful few moments, and even though she no longer saw him, she continued in her solitary waltz.

"Oh, yes you are," Brigitta said, a hint of amusement in her voice. A hand tapped on her shoulder, and her arms dropped in surprise as she turned to her brother's smiling face.

"May I have this dance?" Friedrich asked, bowing just as she had imagined Rolfe to.

"I'd be delighted, young man." Spreading the skirt of her dress in another small curtsy, she accepted her brother's hands and set her own properly, then began the waltz again. Yes, it was so very much as life had been before their mother had died. This was how she had learned to dance—during these same moments she had had with her brother as they watched the parties their parents had given from out of sight, though her father had given her a few lessons after they had been caught making a mockery of one dance.

"Well, why didn't you children tell me you could dance?" Maria's voice broke her memory and the dance she shared with her brother. Liesl's face flushed lightly as she saw her governess emerging from the shadows of the hedges, as beautiful in her simple blue dress as any lady in the ballroom. She and Friedrich just smiled.

"We were afraid you'd make us all dance together," Kurt said a moment later, stepping forward and twirling on on one foot, his jacket flapping in the breeze he created. "The Von Trapp Family Dancers!" Even Maria laughed at that display. Within the ballroom, applause came as the orchestra fell quiet, their song finished. A moment of silence ensued, but the air was soon filled with a new waltz, this one a lilting minor tune. Liesl could recall hearing it a few times long ago, and she could remember the dance that accompanied it if she let her mind drift back.

"What's that they're playing?" asked Gretl, glancing first to the ballroom, then to Maria.

"It's the Ländler," Maria answered, moving to join the children who were gathering about one of the doors of the ballroom. "It's an Austrian folk dance."

Stepping forward again, Kurt said, "Show me."

Maria shook her head shyly. "Oh, Kurt, I haven't danced that since I was a little girl." She had enjoyed dancing it, but it had been ever so long ago, before her own mother had died.

"Oh, you remember. Please."

"Well—" If he asked another time, she knew she would not be able to say no.

"Please." There it was, her weakness. She felt she would do anything to please them.

"Oh, all right," she said, smiling, as she clasped his face in her hands for a moment. "Hmm..." Her face twisted in a momentary consideration. "Do any of you know the Ländler, children?"

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," Liesl said, looking to her siblings, standing in a group, to see Friedrich nod fairly vigorously and even Louisa's head bob uncertainly. It was the dance their father had taken the time to teach them.

"I think they're almost to a point where you could jump in, Liesl, so could you and Friedrich demonstrate it for Kurt?" Maria asked, gesturing for them to begin in the open space of the terrace.

"That's not the same as dancing it, Fräulein Maria!" Kurt said, scowling.

"It will be easier for you to begin to dance it if you have seen some of the steps, Kurt," Maria said, setting her hand on his shoulder as a comfort. "Don't worry, it will be repeated. Come along, Liesl, Friedrich." Smiling in defeat, Liesl beckoned her brother to follow her, and they moved to the center of the terrace. Liesl curtsied once again, and Friedrich bowed, then offered his hand, and they went along the terrace in the rhythmic steps of the dance.

The pair could find the majority of the steps in their memories, and Friedrich only trod on his sister's toes twice, wishing then that they had been able to continue their simple waltz. The beginning of the tune was coming again, and Maria said, "Thank you, Liesl, Friedrich. That's enough." Friedrich let his sister's hand drop from his grasp, then bowed to her, receiving a giggle. But she curtsied once more as Maria turned to Kurt to do the same. Liesl and Maria each extended their hands, and both pairs began the waltz.

The strains of the dance were quickly repeated, and Kurt was thankful, in fact, that Fräulein Maria had insisted he watch Liesl and Friedrich, as he had enough trouble, even with the coupling of that observance and her whispered directions. She was a good deal taller than himself, and allowing her to twirl beneath his arm was an adventure, one that he was certain had left him with a few bruises on his lower arm when she did not duck her head quick enough.

"Well, Louisa," Maria said as the beginning of the waltz came again, "do you think you could dance it with Kurt, now?" She was struggling to catch her breath; it had been years since she had performed any dance, and even longer since that dance had been the Ländler. The younger girl's eyebrows rose hesitantly, but she nodded after a moment.

"Yes, Fräulein Maria," she said, walking to her brother, whose eyes were trained on the ballroom, waiting for the beginning. She did not smile as she waited for her brother to bow to her, but neither did she scowl, so as Maria brushed her fingers through her hair, she took that as a good sign. Hearing the first bars, Kurt bowed to his sister, who curtsied in return, a mirror image of Friedrich and Liesl, still enjoying the memories they were reliving. Stepping back to the wall, cool beneath her back, Maria could not hold her smile; the children she had first met in this home had vanished, just as the father she had met—

"Oh, come now, Fräulein," a deep voice said behind her, "you cannot be left out of this after all the grace you've just demonstrated with Kurt. I understand that such a feat is quite difficult."

Maria's heart fluttered so strangely as she turned, pounding unrhythmically, her breath coming quicker now with the Captain so near. Had she never before seen how entirely handsome he was? _When did he come? _she asked herself as she swallowed over her dry throat.

"Fräulein?" he asked again, drawing her back to the terrace as his hand came forward, silently requesting hers. "Is something the matter?"

"No," she whispered, settling her eyes on his extended hand. There it came anew, the twisting of her stomach as though in nausea, yet she would have it consume her again and again if it meant he would be so close. _Should I? _she asked herself, almost stepping back from him, but the hope in his eyes, and Brigitta's own nearly glowed behind her father.

Just as she had been unable to refuse Kurt, Maria knew as she put her own hand forth, allowing him to wrap his larger fingers about hers, that she could not refuse the Captain. But feeling the beat of the dance pound within her bones—or was it her blood rushing along her veins—did she even wish to back away? Had she ever?

The steps she had so lately taken with Kurt were simpler now, danced with one who knew the dance as well as herself, one so near her— She had to stop the thought as they turned to the other direction, her other hand coming to take the Captain's. Taking the first of the next steps, one simple step, then a small hop, she allowed herself to smile, the warmth of his hands filling her own. Their joined hands rose and they spun under, the tails of fabric on his coat brushing her bare legs while the air flowed past as though a quiet breeze.

Twisting on their heels, they danced back, repeating the steps a second and third time until the music changed once again, and her hand dropped from the Captain's. Glancing around the terrace, Maria smiled, seeing Kurt try to avoid walking all over Louisa's toes—and failing miserably. But even that girl seemed to be enjoying herself—perhaps even biting back a smile—enjoying the realization a memory she had once thought long dead.

Maria spun beneath the Captain's arm, the skirt of her dress flaring as far as the tightly bound waist permitted, the warmth of his hand in her own flowing through her entire body. Her final twirl completed, his free hand rose before her to take hold of her own. She could feel his eyes on her, and she wanted nothing than to return his gaze. The steps drawing them around in an arc, Maria's breaths came quicker—had they ever been so close before? As the backs of their hands came together, their faces turning from one another, she knew they had not. Twisting beneath his arm before coming close to him once again, Maria's breath ceased at the warmth she could feel within him. Before, she had fought for her breath from the strain of the awkward dance she had shared with Kurt, but in _his_ arms...

The steps of the danced passed effortlessly through her mind, his hands circling her waist—strong and gentle at once, her heart almost stopping with the joy that flooded through her. Her hand rising with his, Maria could not hold the smile from her face was their arms swung with the beat of the music, though she was almost saddened as she spun away from him. Being so near the Captain, the cooling air of the night around them both had been completely forgotten.

Tightening her fingers around the fabric of her blue dress, Maria had to grin as she swished the skirt to the Captain's claps. She felt like a child, dancing the Ländler. And as she finished her spin with a final flair of her skirt, her eyes caught his for a moment—a deep joy sparkled within them as he continued to clap, now circling her. She turned a final circle as he did so, and her eyebrows dropped in confusion. None of the children now danced, but rather lined the edge of the terrace by the tall hedges, smiling as they watched, all seeming to be at peace.

Maria blinked quickly, nearly forgetting herself in the dance as her hand rose to meet the Captain's over his shoulder. His gloved fingers took hers to draw her before him, a small smile on his face as utterly calm as his children's. Her hand rose to meet his palm, so warm even beneath his gloves, then dropped back in an arch, looping around her back where the Captain's hand captured hers again.

Her own arm bound her to him, so near she could feel his every breath on her face, the pulse in his thumb that pressed against her wrist. The circles they turned—she hardly felt her feet lifting for the steps, her being was so captured by his eyes. She was falling into their deep blue depths as though she was sinking into the sea, rushing farther down, never to see the sun again. Yet all she felt was that strange peace that covered the children's faces, a safety that even as it calmed her soul, raced in her heart alongside her love for him.

She stiffened even as she spun around a final time. _No, that's not true,_ Maria said to herself, _that _can't _be true._ But as she turned to him again—oh, how could it not be? She _loved_ him, and even as his arm tightened around her waist, drawing her even closer while her pulse pounded so quickly, she knew she always would. Had they ceased to turn, she wondered as he held her closer. Had his eyes ever been so blue, so loving? He pulled her even nearer, and she did not want to back away; she never wanted him to let her go.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Many thanks to **Chamomile Lady** for pointing out my spelling errors.  



	39. A Broken Spell

**Chapter 39: A Broken Spell**

His hands were still drawing her closer—so much closer than the dance demanded—but Maria did not wish to be farther away. Her feet had stopped, and in that moment, she felt she wanted so much more than to be the governess, merely an employee. She wished—

A loud sneeze broke the echoing quiet, and Maria's attention shot to Kurt, his hands clutched before his face to muffle the gentle explosion. Nearby, Liesl and Louisa glared at him, and as his hands fell away, he had only a sheepish grin. Her eyes turning to the Captain, Maria loosened her grasp in his, her hands dropping as she stepped away. "I—I don't remember anymore," she said quietly, her heels clicking on the marble tiles. Still, he did not lift his gaze from her, and how could she look away from his face, so warm and honest.

A set of small footsteps came to her ears. "Your face is all red," Brigitta said, and Maria's hands rose to her cheeks, almost feeling the burn beneath her skin.

"Is it?" Maria said, pressing her palms closer. "I don't suppose I'm used to dancing."

The Captain smiled, yet what was there beneath that small expression: understanding, compassion...and something else she did not—_could_ not—hope to see. _No,_ Maria thought, her hands dropping to cross before her chest, settled on her shoulders even as he still gazed at her, _no, that's not true, it's not possible. You have his friendship—how can you ask for anything else?_ No, that was not all she wanted from him—she wanted more.

Every flush, every pounding of her heart, every dream that had come over her in the weeks she had spent in the Von Trapp home, that single word explained every one—love. _This isn't right, Maria,_ she thought, still sensing the Captain's eyes on her. _You can't have been so foolish to let yourself fall in love with your employer!_ But her stomach fluttered and her heart quickened, and in that moment, nothing felt more natural, as though God had meant it to be.

"Fräulein?" she heard Louisa's voice call, and her eyes came to the girl, and the confused frown on her face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Maria said, her hands falling to her sides. _Something is finally right,_ she thought, another blush flowing across her cheeks as the thought rose in her mind. _No, Maria, how can you even consider that God would wish this for you—He led you to the abbey, then to this home to prepare these seven children for a new mother, for Baroness Schr__äder. You mean nothing to him except as a governess!_ But why had his eyes seemed to see so much more than that?

"You dance very well, Fräulein Maria," Brigitta said, walking around her father to her governess, glancing up to the Captain for a moment. "And you do, too, Father."

"Thank you," Maria and Georg both began at once, Maria's voice collapsing into a nervous laugh as Georg smiled. His eyes were still fixed upon her, and beneath them, her breaths quickened. There was nothing more right than that happiness in her heart, yet...Dropping her gaze, Maria breathed deeply, willing herself to be calm. Oh, God, she had to leave, before her knees gave way, before the tears stinging the backs of her eyes wet her face. Yet why was turning her gaze to the children so difficult?

"Children," she said, hoping her voice to be steadier than she felt as she walked towards the largest group of children, the four oldest, "will you please come here?" Marta and Gretl, still by the door into the ballroom, hurried around their father, followed swiftly by Brigitta, to join their huddled siblings around Maria. She spoke quietly to them, and when her words ended, Georg could not see a single child without a smile. "Then we'd best hurry," Maria said, offering her hands to Marta and Gretl, the children all too willing to take them.

He frowned as Maria rushed past him, her face down, drawn forward by Marta and Gretl, hurrying by as the excited grins on their faces spread wider, mirrored even by Friedrich and Liesl. From the whispered words, Georg had managed to discern something about the children saying good night, but why that would mean excitement for any of them, he could not understand. He would have expected them to protest to high heaven to stay up just a little bit longer, asking for that boon each time she came to take them upstairs. Indeed, he had expected that the youngest girls would at last need to be carried to their bedroom.

But it was not his children's departure that darkened his mood—it was Maria's. Tugging off his gloves and folding them into his pockets, he turned out to the middle of the terrace again, the heat of the memory rising. Dancing with her had been so natural, and nearly perfect. Her hands had molded into his own as though there was no difference between them, as if they had been one in that moment. And her smile, so beautiful on her face that he had almost winced every time the dance demanded she turn from him.

"Ah, Captain," an older man called, and turning to the sound of the voice as he entered the ballroom once more, Georg smiled. Baron Ebberfield approached him, his wife on his arm, the blue and yellow sash across his chest crisp beside the shining decorations on his coat. "I'd wondered when I would have a moment to speak with you."

"It seems you have it," Georg said, nodding his head gently to the Baron, smiling as well to Baroness Ebberfield with a gentle nod of his head. "Baroness."

"It's been years, Captain," Baroness Ebberfield said, reaching out to set a familiar hand on the long-time friend's arm, "since you've given such a party." Her eyes darkened, but her words continued. "Not since the death of your wife."

"Well," Georg said, glancing about the room for Elsa, at last finding her by the opposite wall, speaking quietly to a young woman in a vibrant blue dress, "it is hardly possible to have such an event when one is afraid of being at home." The dress flowed perfectly over the woman's shoulders, cut specifically for her body, yet another woman in a blue dress came quickly to mind the longer he allowed his gaze to linger on Elsa's companion. Her eyes matched the frock his children had selected for her, and the fabric had clung to the gentle curves of her body as though tailored for her. Exquisitely, almost.

"You really are much too hard on yourself, Captain," the Baroness continued, and Georg shook his head as he glanced back to her. "I'm sure there is much to visit in Vienna without the intention of running from home." A small smile grew across her face, for her eyes had followed his gaze to Elsa.

"Perhaps," he said, blinking as a harsh gleam shone on the jewels of the tiara set atop Baroness Ebberfield's graying hair. "Now, I really must join one of those distractions you mentioned, Baroness—"

"But first, Captain, you must allow me the honor of asking just who your lovely dance partner was," a harsh voice said, and Georg tensed at the words. Glancing over his shoulder, he held close his grimace at Zeller's presence, wishing another time he had simply ignored Elsa's wish to invite the man. "I must confess, whoever she may be, she is a lovely creature."

"That was Fräulein Maria, my children's governess," Georg said, turning on his heels to face the man. Whatever the reason for the thin mustache over the Zeller's lip, it only reminded Georg of whom Zeller had chosen to ally himself.

"Oh, the children's governess," Zeller said, not bothering to hide his chuckle. "How wonderfully romantic. Are you attempting to sweep the poor girl off her feet before your engagement to Baroness Schräder is made official?"

Georg felt his eyes narrow even as Baroness Ebberfield cleared her throat quietly. "Herr Zeller," he said, his voice tight as he stepped back from the man, "I would have thought that my dealings with my children's governess would be none of your concern. And even if I was wrong, I cannot comprehend the reason you choose to make them your concern."

"I have no care as to whether or not you seduce the poor girl," Zeller said, waving his hand toward the Captain as he shook his head. "What I do have a care for is the display of the Austrian flag in your home."

"In my home," Georg snapped, not seeing the faces that turned towards his clipped tone, "I shall do as I wish, just as you may do in yours."

"Well, Captain, the ostrich buries his head in the sand—and sometimes..." the man's face turned towards the foyer, "...in the flag. Perhaps to warn you that the _Anschluss_ is coming—and it is coming, Captain—we should send in a girl as charming as your governess. Perhaps she will be able to charm your mind as she has appeared to have charmed—other parts of you?" The small smile that curved on the man's lips turned Georg's stomach.

"I would prefer, Herr Zeller," Georg managed, his breathing heavier as his anger grew, "that you did not insult a member of my household in such a way." Turning to his companions, he bowed his head with a tight smile. "Baron, Baroness." He wove his way through the beautifully spinning men and women to Elsa without glancing back to Herr Zeller, for if he did, his anger would get the better of him. Yes, he should have simply left Zeller's name from the guest list, no matter Elsa's protests.

"Ah, darling," she said, reaching out to fold her hand in his, "I had been wondering where you were hiding."

"I took a moment to see to the children," he said, turning his face to the terrace for a moment. "I hadn't seen them all evening."

"Oh, yes," Elsa said with a quiet laugh as she reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "I had a glimpse of you out there. Did the children rope you into performing with their governess?"

Georg's hand trembled as he reached for his own drink, a small trail of the bubbling liquid slipping along the outside of the glass to wet his hand. "Mmm," he mumbled as he took a sip, "yes. It's rather difficult to deny them whatever they ask."

He hated the lie, but the truth was harder to speak, to admit that he had sought her out after his eyes had caught her in the midst of the Ländler with Kurt. Maria's trying her best to dance with the boy, despite her greater height, had brought a chuckle to his lips, a warmth that grew as he saw Liesl and Friedrich performing the folk dance as well. He had taught the oldest the dance many years ago, having caught them attempting it rather badly, and he had been surprised that after so many years, any of his children could recall it.

But the thought of Maria, her eyes sparkling in the light of the stars and moon, simply watching as others continued on—no, that was not the woman he knew. Bringing his glass up again, Georg closed his eyes for a moment. She had been so graceful in his arms, so perfect—as though it were meant to be. Her body so warm against his arm, so slender, he had wondered if he held but a breath of air, deliciously fresh in his embrace. In the final spins of the dance, she had been so near, he fancied he felt her heart pounding against his chest, running desperately quick as a peace crossed her face. Yet he had been more than surprised by the calm that fell over him as well, for the depth of feeling he could finally read in her eyes...

Elsa's fingers moved in his, drawing him back to the ballroom, a wave of heat from the crowd washing over him. His glass in his hand was drained, and he set it atop a tray of another waiter as Elsa lifted her own for another sip. "Really, Georg, you must pay _some_ attention to me this evening," she said, a small smile on her face. Oh, she had followed his thoughts, for they had journeyed to that one person who it seemed ever occupied his mind: Maria.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, bowing his head to her, "but my children can be a handful at times—"

"Ladies and gentlemen," a familiar voice said, breaking off his words as his face came up, "the children of Captain von Trapp wish to say good night to you." Maria stood in the entrance of the ballroom into the foyer, her arms wide in an invitation to the guests. _Say good night?_ Georg wondered, stepping forward quickly, drawing Elsa behind him into the foyer.

Atop the small landing that brought together the stairs to either wing of the house, his children stood in a small huddle, those same smiles he had last seen upon them filling each countenance. Maria waved at them, and they folded out into several lines, Liesl, Louisa, and Gretl each standing on their own. Together, each of his children clasped their hands behind their backs, glancing about the foyer at their audience. A song, he realized, _that_ was certainly coming. Resting his hand beneath his chin, he allowed himself a quiet grin as they began.

"There's a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall and the bells in the steeple, too. And up in the nursery an absurd little bird is popping out to say 'cuckoo'..."


	40. Second

**Chapter 40: Second**

Georg shook his head as the last of the children—Liesl carrying an exhausted Gretl—disappeared into the corridor of their bedrooms. They had performed a wonderful song, truly, and an amusing dance coupled with it; he had only now to fear Max's heightened attempts to soften his conviction against their singing in the Festival.

"They're extraordinary," Max said, turning to Georg who shrugged, still simply amazed himself. That they had composed such a song in the few weeks since he had announced the party to them was...amazing. That _Maria _had done so was extraordinary. "What they would do at the festival—oh, young lady, I must have a word with you." Georg's face snapped to Max, who had seized Maria's wrist, drawing her over to Georg as her skin flushed. "Georg—Georg, you're not going to let this girl get away." Max smiled as he turned to her for a moment. "She has to join the party."

Maria blinked her eyes slowly, stepping back as far as her captured arm would allow. "No, really, I—"

"Sh sh sh," Max said, placing a warning finger to his lips as his eyebrows rose. "Stop it." Her face fell as Max turned to Georg another time, and at the Captain's side, one hand still woven in his while the other clutched an empty champagne glass, Baroness Schräder's eyes narrowed. "Georg, please," Max said again with a small smile.

Glancing over his shoulder, Georg's breath caught at Maria's face, glowing a crimson color in the light of the foyer. "You can if you want to, Fräulein," he said, nodding to her. Why did he hope so very much that she would?

"I insist," Max said, patting her hand. "You will be my dinner partner." Turning to Elsa, Max wrinkled his nose at the cool expression on her face. "This is business," he added quietly. Glancing up, he smiled as Franz walked by. "Ah, Franz—set another place next to mine for Fräulein Maria."

The butler's eyebrows rose as he glanced to the Captain. The _governess_ join the party? Yet the Captain nodded, his gaze drifting to Maria again as Franz straightened. "Whatever you say, Herr Detweiler." Bowing slightly from the waist, he walked into the crowd to attend to the addition, holding in a shake of his head.

"Well, it appears to be all arranged, doesn't it?" Georg said, smiling to Maria, whose eyes were widening. What was it there that drew forth a nervousness in his heart, a strange hope?

"It certainly does," Elsa said, indulging in another sip of champagne. The girl's face had been pale when Max had taken hold of her arm, but now she was not certain what to make of it. In her glimpse of Georg and this young lady dancing the final steps Ländler on the terrace, Elsa's stomach had tightened. Maria's love for the Captain was plain on her face—and yet she had nearly fled his arms, stepping away as a pause came. More than anything, though, Elsa wished she might have seen Georg's face, seen just what had been written across his visage.

Tugging on her arm, still held tightly by Herr Detweiler, Maria felt her face begin to burn hotter beneath Baroness Schräder's cool gaze and the Captain's eyes. "I'm sorry, Herr Detweiler," she managed, her voice somehow steady, "I'm not quite feeling myself at the moment. You really must forgive me—"

"Nonsense, my dear," Max said, waving away her words as his hand tightened on her wrist. "Any person who can handle the seven Von Trapp children and their stubborn father can handle a simple dinner party."

Maria shook her head quickly. How could she even be near the Captain this evening, after what had happened on the terrace? Had she not drawn away, murmuring some lie that she did not remember anymore...Maria did not want to think on what might have come to pass, on what a deep part of her _hoped_ might have come about. "Please, Herr Detweiler, Captain, I'm simply not feeling well."

"Then I shall be forced to claim your company another time," Max said, gently moving his grasp to take Maria's hand, drawing it to his lips. "After all, I cannot permit the one person who might persuade Georg to allow me to enter the Von Trapp Family Singers into the Festival to escape me."

"Max," Georg said, smiling despite the frustration in his word.

"Don't worry, Georg, I shan't put words in her mouth."

Turning to Maria, Georg nodded, her red face a puzzle in that instant. For a moment, he wanted to reach out to her, to feel the heat burning under her cheeks. One of his hands still lost in Elsa's grasp, he slipped the other into his pocket, tightening his fingers around the edge of the fabric. "Good night...Fräulein." Why had her name risen to the tip of his tongue easier than _Fräulein_?

"Good night, Captain," she said, slipping her hand from Max's. Her feet took her to the small landing at the front of the foyer quicker than she had wished, every meter between herself and the man she loved a welcome distance...then why did she wish to look back as she climbed the first of the steps? _Don't, Maria,_ she told herself. _Why should you? Do you think you will see any care for yourself in his face?_

But her gaze turned as she neared the summit of the staircase, and _his_ eyes found hers. The pulsing blood in her ears was suddenly loud, harsher than the beats of her heart as she had stood on the terrace feeling nothing but the warmth of his arms. Even from the height of the hall along the servants' quarters, his blue eyes sparkled, a deeper shade than she had ever seen, opening further into his soul than ever before. Was it—

No, it could not be that, could _never_ be that! She could never ask that of him. A tightness filled her chest as her breaths shortened, that sting in her eyes she had felt so often in the past few days burning. Twisting on her heel, her hand drifted up to brush away the tears that spilled over as she quickened her steps into the corridor that housed her bedroom. She could _never_ allow him to see!

* * *

As the young woman disappeared into the hall, Elsa squeezed Georg's hand gently. His gaze had followed Maria's ascension, and her words concerning the start of dinner had been unable to draw his attention. Dropping her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, Elsa ran her fingers along his arm, threading her own around the crook of his elbow. He started at her touch, turning his face to hers. "Yes, Elsa?" 

"You know what, Georg," she said, "you've hardly danced with me all evening." Curving her lips in a small pout, she slapped his arm playfully, glancing down at her gown, a shining gold in the light of the foyer. "And I so thought I would appear lovely enough to be in your arms."

"Of course you are, darling," Georg said, holding his grimace at the gauzy ornamentation atop one of her shoulders. Elsa was enchanting in her dress, yet he could not name her beautiful this evening. And with those same touches of powder on her face, the pomade to hold the short strands of loose hair to her carefully coiffed head, the beauty that might have radiated from her seemed buried. But in her simple frock, her face showing only her naked skin, Maria had been beautiful.

_"Herr Küster," Georg said, bowing his head to the man, one of the first guests to arrive. Turning to Elsa, he added, "Baroness Schräder."_

_"How do you do?" Elsa said, allowing the man to take her hand, bringing it gently to his lips. His wife followed close behind, and she took the dark haired woman's hand in her own with a smile._

_Georg's smile had already tightened as the next guests filed past, and each time he glanced to Elsa as he gave her name, he could only wonder that her expression still seemed genuine, though she had never met a soul that now passed before her. It was all he could do to offer them a greeting. As a baron spoke to Elsa, he glanced up to see Brigitta leaning over the railing along the hall above, her face glowing with excitement. Just the sight of one of his children lightened his spirits. Lord, but Elsa was far more comfortable than himself._

_"...excited, but please let me finish with your hair, girls," an exasperated voice said, floating down from the corridor that led to the children's rooms. Georg's eyes followed the sound, and a easy smile rose on his face as he caught a glimpse of Maria, trying to persuade Gretl and Marta away from the rail. Both girls wore their hair half-finished, still flowing wildly over their shoulders. Marta complied, drawing back to Maria, but Gretl still clutched at the bars._

_"Gretl," Maria said as her hand came to the girl's back. "It won't take that long, I promise. You'll be back in five minutes, and just think of how many more people there will be for you to see."_

_"Really?" the girl asked, turning to her governess._

_"Really," Maria said, bending to kiss the girl's forehead. As she straightened, Georg caught her eyes. Did she know how lovely she appeared in that dress? A gauzy blue material—not dissimilar to that covering one of Elsa's shoulders—flowed across a darker shift, rustling as a gentle breeze from the opening of the door drifted along the steps. She seemed everything he had never imagined the first moment he beheld her—lovely, beautiful, beloved..._

"Darling," Elsa said, her voice for a way for a moment, drawing him back roughly. "Is something the matter?"

"No," he said, sliding his arm from around hers. Twining his fingers with her gloved hand, his own white gloves still in his pocket, he smiled as the orchestra began a new waltz. "May I have the honor of a dance?"

"Of course, Georg," she said, settling her free hand on his shoulder as his own rested on the small of her back. Their steps beginning, Elsa smiled quietly at Georg, but he did not offer her any response, not even the slightest twinkle in his eye. Indeed, he hardly seemed to see her; his mind was elsewhere, and Elsa knew just where. He was on the terrace again, in the final steps of the Ländler—in Maria's arms.

No illness had driven Maria from the party, Elsa had seen that immediately, but it had been something deeper. For weeks, ever since the girl's return from the abbey, Elsa had wondered at just what she saw in every gaze the governess gave Georg, every flush on her face, every awkward silence that fell between them—that same strangeness she had noticed between herself and her husband when they had first met, the prelude to love. All those weeks, Elsa had questioned again and again if this little _fräulein_ had fallen in love with Georg, and this evening, she knew it at last to be true.

But something else, _that_ had sent Maria from the foyer. A questioning of that emotion, mayhap? No, the near terror on the girl's face as Max pulled her to the Captain—that she loved Georg was beyond any doubt. Perhaps that, though: fear. Postulants were never meant to fall in love, for to be a nun meant to enter a marriage to the church, to leave no room for a human lover. Yes, fear and confusion and perhaps even horror had stung Maria's heels on those steps, chasing her faster than anything Georg might offer in return, anything she herself might deign to say. Tightening her fingers in Georg's, Elsa smiled again; the girl had run on her own.

Turning in the waltz, Georg's eyes rose over Elsa's hair to the darkened terrace brushed by traces of the ballroom's chandeliers. Why did he wish to be _there_ once more, in a dance at once graceful and ludicrous? The Ländler was hardly what one expected at a refined occasion, performed by the aristocracy, no less, yet that was all he wanted in this moment. To take those lilting steps, turn those inane circles, to hold Maria as tightly as the dance demanded...closer...

What was this? The day she returned, those few weeks ago, he had found her eyes and nearly fallen into their depths, never to find his way back. _A friendship,_ he began in his mind, but he could not finish the thought. _No, something more—something _better.

Not an attraction, merely a love of her beauty, for there was so much more to Maria than that: her faith, her spirit, her joy in the simple life she led. All that was her nearly drove him mad in the desire to be near her, to know her more, to know every part of her. _Oh, God,_ he thought, _how long—how many _years _has it been since I wished for this? Not since I met Agathe._ He had loved her recklessly, perhaps more than he should have, and his children had twice suffered the pain her death brought: their own as they lost their mother, and his, as he lost she whom he loved more than anything. If he was ever to lose Maria...

Georg stumbled in a step, nearly tripping on his own shoe to a small laugh from Elsa. Why was he dancing with Elsa, he had to ask himself, why was he even here any longer when the woman he loved had already gone? Was it possible to deny any longer? No. How had not realized it as Maria had filled his arms on the terrace, so warm and lithe in his embrace.

And what had he seen in her eyes, rising from their endless, sparkling blue? The same? Or was that simply a hope, a wish, something never meant to be? Yet here were his fingers twisted with Elsa's, here was his hand drawing her close to him, here was his heart feeling nothing for her.

It had been evenings like this that had driven him to Elsa, nights in Vienna that Max had dragged him to parties to drown the grief that still surfaced so readily in him. On those evenings, her memory had burned the brightest as he remembered the first time they had met, and the pain in his heart had sprung so strongly. On those evenings, he stood among the crowds with the half smile that was his only own on his face, nodding to those who chose to offer him a greeting, taking what glasses of wine were proffered him, and missing his wife so desperately, he could hardly breathe.

Her face had risen before his on those evenings, her shining smile present even when he closed his eyes, only to open again brimming with the tears he could never shed. That had been the man Elsa found, a broken shell still struggling under the weight of anger and agony. How many years had passed since the death of her husband when their paths had first crossed—five? Perhaps more. The wound had not been so new, did not burn so strongly within her, but it had still stung. And so, they had comforted one another, drawing near in a friendship that both needed for survival. Yet now, Georg knew, that was all it could be—a friendship, and nothing more. Love for Elsa, that could never be.

Only Maria, he knew, she was the only woman that he could love. _She is a postulant,_ he said to himself, turning once more in the dance. _She wishes to become a nun—_ But he did not care. He loved her, that much was certain. That gentle ache consuming him, it demanded to be filled by her, and his heart wanted nothing more than to have her be his, to give himself to her forever—to be made complete.

The final strains of the waltz faded as the violinists stilled their bows, gentle applause preventing the fall of silence. Dropping his hand from Elsa's back, tugging his fingers from hers, Georg tried to quiet his sigh, holding it with a small smile. For how much longer would this evening last? He didn't think he could endure much more.

* * *

**Author's Note:** One line of this was adapted from _You've Got Mail_. 


	41. Opposites

**Chapter 41: Opposites**

Tugging her nightgown over her head, short strands of hair flying in every direction, Maria rubbed at her eyes. The tears simply would not stop flowing, as though she were meant to make a total fool of herself this night. That was all she could be—a fool, for only such a person could fall in love with her employer.

"How could you do this?" she asked herself as she pulled back the comforter of her bed. "He's meant to marry Baroness Schräder; you knew that your first night here! And yet you still let yourself..." Shifting her body on the mattress, dropping the comforter across her legs as she pressed her back to the frame of her bed, Maria clenched her eyes tightly, for in that darkness she could find the will to not see.

Oh, Lord, _anything_ but those, _anything_ but those images in her mind. Drawing her knees to her chest, Maria buried her face in the white layer atop her body. Not when she had left them behind!

She had no one to blame but herself, Maria knew, no one she could point to and claim bewitchment, or the muddling of her mind and senses. No one but her, and nothing but her own weakness. The tears trickled along her cheeks quicker, soaking the comforter as she tightened her arms about her legs. "Why?" she whispered, the word muffled as her face pressed against the white fabric. "Why?"

What could she do, leave? She could never outrun the memories, but the temptation, the possibility—yes, she could abandon those in this villa, never to see them again. _But where then will you go, Maria Rainer, abysmal fool? The abbey?_ No, for they would inquire, ask again and again why she had returned to them a second time, and she would not lie; she was wretched at weaving falsehoods.

_Where else do you have? _she asked herself. _What did you tell the Reverend Mother—it was your home and your family, and now you can't go back!_ The back of her hand wiped another trail of tears from her face. _Where else? To your father..._She winced even at the memories. No, she had left him behind those years ago—left him forever—it _had_ to remain that way. He was no longer a part of her life!

_You have nowhere to go,_ she realized, _you have no one._

Was this how lost the children had felt as they watched their father run to Vienna time and again, so filled with pain he could scarcely gaze at them, let alone love them? Wondering if there was any person to turn to, any place that might offer a safe hold? Four years of living so lost?

"They are so strong," she murmured, folding her hands atop her knees, resting her chin on her knuckles. "So much stronger than you are."

To leave was the only thing to do, the one thing she _should_ do, but she could not. "You promised them," she whispered, straightening her back against the white poles of her bed frame. "You promised them you would remain until September. What is another month and a half?" Maria shuddered as another sob tore at her throat. _An eternity._

She could not abandon them—they were too dear to her, too close to her heart for her to break her word, and in their short lives, they had lost too much already. Every one of them she loved too much to leave. Her own well-being she found she no longer concerned for.

But this tearing in her chest, the ache that she could now name. _Please, God,_ she thought, sliding her legs along the sheets to lie back, drawing the comforter close in spite of the July heat, _please help me._ What was it she had told the children the night of the thunderstorm? _Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles, warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings..._

Burying one hand beneath her cheek, she reached out the other to snap off the lamp beside her bed. _Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes, silver white winters that melt into springs_...He had come in, then, his face staid and strict, hardly more than flesh, and certainly giving no indication of a soul behind his eyes. Even then, she had felt something more.

"Please help me, Father," she whispered, wrapping her arms around her shoulders under the weight of the sheets and comforter, resting her chin against her chest. "Please, Father—be with me. Do not leave me alone. Please."

She would miss each of them the moment she left, for all her life. Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, Gretl...and _him._ She loved them all so very much, and most especially him, so recklessly. But as she drifted into a restless sleep, Maria knew she no longer cared about herself. She could not go.

* * *

"Did you see the way they were looking at each other?" Louisa asked, her voice hushed. "And they were so close." 

"Until Kurt sneezed," Brigitta said, twining together the final strands of her second dark braid. She shook her head with a frown. "He couldn't have held it a moment longer?"

"Do you think they know?" Louisa asked, turning to Liesl. The three of them sat on the oldest girl's bed, hardly able to see one another even with the glow of Liesl's lamp. That afternoon, Fräulein Maria had told them to go to bed immediately after saying good night, asking the older girls to help Marta and Gretl make themselves ready for bed, but Liesl, Louisa, and Brigitta were too excited to sleep. After what had happened on the terrace—what had _nearly_ happened on the terrace, how could anyone sleep?

"How can they not?" Liesl asked, leaning back to rest her weight on her palms, the mattress shifting beneath her. "They would have to be blind not to see it—blind or unwilling to look."

"But Fräulein Maria wants to be a nun," Brigitta said, twisting a band around her finished braid and tossing it over her shoulder. "That means she doesn't want to fall in love and doesn't want to get married."

"That was before, though," Liesl said, drawing her knees up to her chest. "She didn't know she would fall in love with Father."

"I would be so happy for Fräulein Maria to be our mother," Louisa said quietly.

"Instead of Baroness Schräder?" Brigitta asked, crossing her legs beneath her nightgown.

"Of course!" Louisa snapped, immediately wishing she had not. "But not just because of that, 'Gitta. I want her to be our mother because I love _her_, not because of Baroness Schräder."

"We all love her," Liesl said, burying her toes in the layers of her quilt. "And Marta and Gretl I think already would call her 'Mother' if they forgot themselves."

"Wouldn't you?" Louisa's question hung in the air for a moment as Brigitta and Liesl glanced to one another—and knew that they would.

"But do you really think she would give up all that?" Brigitta asked, rubbing her arms; despite the summer month, the air seemed chilly tonight. "Becoming a nun?"

"If you _really_ loved someone, wouldn't you, 'Gitta?" Louisa asked as her eyes narrowed. Looking to her older sister, she smiled coyly. "But then, we really need to go to Liesl for things concerning love. How is Rolfe?"

Liesl's hand swiftly found the pillow behind her, drawing it forward at swiping at Louisa. The younger girl was quick, though, and ducked beneath it. Crawling from Liesl's bed, Louisa ran across the room to hers, grabbing her own pillow as Brigitta jumped away from Liesl.

"Ahh!" Liesl shrieked as Louisa swung at her, only missing her as she leaned away, almost losing her balance. Stumbling for a moment, she nearly fell forward as she found her center, aiming for Louisa's arm. Quickly, though, she felt the gentle blow of a pillow against her back, and turning, she had a glimpse of Brigitta smiling triumphantly as she raised her pillow to strike again.

The girls' laughter and muffled shouts filled the room, mixing with soft thumps as they swung their pillows at one another, striking carelessly, until, exhausted and elated, they dropped into their beds, soon finding sleep and dreams of a new mother.

* * *

He had lost track of the time before he escaped to his rooms, hardly able to close the door behind him without a sigh. The evening had worn on seemingly without end, one dull conversation after another, one feigned affection or term of endearment for Elsa following on the heels of its predecessor. Slipping his shoes from his feet, Georg groaned at the sharp crack of his back as he straightened. The moon had surely passed the height of its journey to dawn by now, and here he stood, still in his evening attire, contemplating sleep. 

But it would not come, not quite yet; he shrugged his jacket from his shoulders, laying it across his bed. Not until he had considered his heart, then he might find rest. Settling himself on the edge of the mattress, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, the want of rest beating inside his skull. That he loved Maria he did not and could not doubt, but what of it?

What care had she, a postulant, for his affections? Yet the future Maria had designed for herself, why could he not see it? Not because of his own wants and desires—even that very first day, he had found himself in disbelief that this beautiful, flighty, defiant, amusing, and, above all else, wonderful creature wished to be a nun. A marriage to the church? No, he could only smile at the incongruity of that situation.

Now, though, what was he to do? Ask her into his study the next morning, drop to one knee and beg her to marry him, to forsake the path she believed God had set her upon? Or ignore the quiet thoughts that rose every time he glanced at her, the simple joy of seeing her face, hearing her voice, her singing—let her go? Allow what he had thought he felt for Elsa to be made true before God, to bind himself to a woman he could never love but as a friend? The thoughts nearly spun his head.

Georg's eyelids drooped as he shifted, spreading his body along the length of his bed, too exhausted to be bothered with changing. _She_ would be happy, he knew, pleased that his heart no longer ached in loneliness, that the children had found someone as dear as herself, that he could love Maria as well as he had loved her—that their children wished to call Maria 'Mother.'

_"Children!" Georg called, the clamor of voices just off in the distance dimming at the word. "You've only a few minutes till you're to be in bed." The group of children came into sight finally, many faces mussed with dirt, and every one sweaty. "My goodness," he said, stepping back so that the group could climb the steps to the veranda, "what have we got here? If I could not count, I doubt I'd recognize a one of you."_

_"We went berry-picking," Brigitta said, wrinkling her nose as she reached up to pick a bramble from her dark braid. Indeed, Georg had noticed the red smears about the younger children's mouths._

_"I see," he said, reaching down to scoop up his youngest daughter. "Strawberries, I presume?"_

_"Yes, Father," Gretl said, twisting a strand of light hair around a dirty finger. "They were delicious."_

_"I would think so." Georg nodded his head, difficult with the little girl in his arms. "And what about you, Sara?" he asked, shifting the child in his grasp to brush her cheek with a kiss. "Did you enjoy your adventure."_

_"Yes, Father!" she exclaimed giggling as she tightened her arms around his neck, filling Georg's face with her light red hair._

_"I'm quite certain you shall all have stomachaches like never before tomorrow" he said, bending down to set his three year-old on her feet._

_"No, we won't, Father!" Karl said, his blue eyes flashing as he wished to say more, but he was silenced by a squeeze of Marta's hand. Already, Georg could clearly see the four year-old had inherited nearly all of his mother's personality._

_"And you, Isabella?" Georg asked, catching the six year-old's gaze. Despite her dark hair and bright eyes, he had often dismissed his wife's claim that she among all his children bore him the greatest resemblance._

_"I'll be fine," she said looking at her father with a frown as she swung her hand in Brigitta's grasp. "Where is Mother?"_

_"Inside, waiting to send the lot of you off—"_

_"Now, Captain," his wife's voice came as she stepped from the house on to the veranda, "you know you shouldn't lie in front of your children."_

_"Speak of an angel, and she comes," Georg said, slipping his arm about her waist as she stepped up to his side._

_"Don't you mean, 'speak of the devil'?" she asked, setting her hand atop his._

_"I thought you were the one who wanted the truth," he said with a laugh, kissing her temple. Glancing to his children, he smiled at Karl's almost nauseous expression. "Well, to bed with you, or perhaps to_ baths _with you first. We'll be up in a few minutes to say good night."_

_"Yes, Father," the children chorused raggedly, the group of six walking around their parents into the house. Their steps fading, Georg turned to his wife. "My love, you are beautiful today." Her cheeks reddened at the compliment; even after seven years of marriage, he could still charm that glow to her skin at times._

_"Hardly," she said, twisting to face him, shifting his hand to rest on her rounded abdomen. "I doubt such a shape is what is meant by beauty."_

_"Ah, well," Georg said, smiling as a small limb pulsed beneath his palm. "I suppose I shall be forced to disagree with the arbitrator of that wisdom, Maria." Lifting his other hand to her face, he cupped her chin, guiding her to him in a quick kiss._

_"I love you," she whispered as she drew back, the bones of her face shaded by the sunset's final rays._

_His fingers traced the line of her cheek as that same tiny hand or foot pounded against his wife__'s stomach, beating__ on his hand as well. "And I you.__"_


	42. Sharing Memories

**Chapter 42: Sharing Memories**

Gently plucking at the guitar's strings, Maria closed her eyes for a moment. Her decision the night before, her affirmation of it this morning in her prayers—nothing in her life had been so difficult, not even her choice the day she had left her father's home for the abbey. She had not meant the strains of song drifting from her hands to be so mournful, but it seemed to be all her fingers could find.

She had been surprised that the children had been so willing to let her this time on her own, willing even to take time for their studies; Maria was grateful, though. Her mind was even more troubled than the night before. _Is that even possible?_ she asked herself, frowning. Everything had sprung up so suddenly last night, so strongly, and yet she had known that her heart did not deceive her. This morning, her prayers had been desperate, pleading with God.

_Please,_ she had whispered, the words not even passing her lips as her face pressed itself into the soft warmth of her bed's comforter, _please God, you must help me. I cannot do this by myself. I know that I cannot leave, but Father, neither can I stay._ As the tears trickled along her cheeks, her palms had cupped her face, pressing against the moisture that wet her skin. _A test,_ she had thought, _to see your will and strength._

"Prove it to yourself," she had said, pushing herself away from her bed to stand. "Prove that you have that strength, that you can deny this..." Her words had failed, as that single word _love_ had risen to be spoken—and to speak even that simple word was to give it power, to declare it true.

_You can never do that,_ Maria thought. _Whatever else, you can never say that, either to him or yourself—_

"Good morning," a quiet voice said, drawing her eyelids up, her face to the door.

"Good morning, Captain," Maria said, her fingers pausing as her right hand stilled the strings. She had thought she would be nervous or even embarrassed to see the Captain again, alone, but discomfort was the furthest thing from her mind as she felt herself captured by his gaze. Even this morning at breakfast, she had marvelled that her face had not burned. "I trust the party went well?"

"Oh, yes," Georg said, stepping into the room, drawn by that desire to be near the woman he loved. "It lasted far too long for my liking, though Elsa did rightfully remind me that this house should have been filled to three or four in the morning, were we in Vienna."

"The children would never have managed to sleep," Maria said, smiling to herself even as he came closer. "I'm sure they were awake far beyond their bedtime last night anyway."

"Certainly." He chuckled as he perched himself on one of the chairs, a few meters from Maria. "Where are the children?" Any of the other governesses he would have long since snapped at for slacking on her duties, but this morning he was pleased to see Maria on her own, surrounded by that music that ever filled her.

"Finishing their study hour, Captain. Once I had taken them upstairs after breakfast, Liesl insisted I take some time by myself, that she would look after the youngest. They're all tired, sir, as you saw at breakfast, and I don't expect they'll be outside much today; they're all about to fall asleep on their feet." She held in a small giggle. "Except for Marta and Gretl. I believe they alone fell asleep immediately last night."

"Probably. I was surprised that you managed to convince them to leave so easily."

"I simply decided to let them enjoy it." She glanced to him. "I do believe that you still might have let Liesl stay a bit longer. She is becoming a young woman."

"Perhaps," Georg said, shaking his head at the thought of one of his children reaching adulthood. It made him feel ancient as he waved his hand at her. "But, please don't let me interrupt you. Your playing is beautiful, Fräulein."

"Thank you," Maria said, dropping her face so that he did not see her flush. Even such simple words—a simple compliment she had heard many times—from him meant more than anything ever had as her fingers began again.

For a time, Georg sat back in his chair, allowing the simple tune to wash over his ears, her face to fill his eyes. Her hands moved with the grace that only a musician possessed, the certainty that an intimate knowledge of every string, fret, or key gave. "Entirely beautiful," he whispered, clasping his hands beneath his chin as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

He could not marry Elsa, of that much only, Georg was certain. She was a good friend, a woman to whom he knew he would forever be grateful, but he could never marry her, never _love_ her as a man should love his wife. She deserved a person who would hold her to his heart and love her for herself, not for what she had done for him. And how to approach her, to find those gentle words that would surely make her ache...He shook his head; it had to be done.

Yet beyond that, _nothing_ was sure. He loved a postulant, a woman who intended to devote herself only to the church and God, a woman twenty years his junior, perhaps more. All no doubt highly improper in the eyes of his family, society, his acquaintances, all but those of his children and closest friends. But none of that seemed to matter this morning, sitting in the drawing room with Maria, hearing her skillful fingers tug that beautiful melody from her guitar.

"Tell me, Fräulein," Georg said after a few minutes, "what song is that?"

"I don't know the title," Maria said, quieting the strings even as she continued. "My father taught it to me long ago, before my mother died." Her eyes closed as she winced; even before her mother's death, he had never really loved her. Oh, her mother he had loved as recklessly and thoughtlessly as the Captain had surely loved his wife, but herself...She had been an unexpected part of his marriage, something _unwanted_.

"Fräulein?" Georg said, pulling her back from the memory. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, still strumming the strings gently.

"I don't believe that," he said, standing from his chair, crossing the room to her side. Nearer to her, he could see the glistening of sudden tears in her eyes. His hand drifted to her shoulder, his fingers tightening on her flesh. "And I don't think you do, either. Please, Fräulein, don't try to hold it inside."

"Only memories," she said, her arm tensing beneath his grasp. "They're painful, but only memories."

"Fräulein..." Georg said, wondering if his voice seemed just as desperate to her as it did to himself, "...Maria, you can't hold in everything. You can't have the strength to handle on your own anything that you will have to endure. Let us help you, Fräulein—let us _all_ help you."

Her broken breath was her answer, the quick blinking of her eyes speaking more than her words. Something was buried in her mind, Georg could see, a memory of immense pain, surely as large and gaping as the wound that had festered in his own after Agathe's death. But he could never force her to share it; she would have to reach that decision on her own.

It was no longer possible, she knew, that life she had long desired for herself, to which he had believed God had led her. The distance and the years might grow beyond her reckoning, past her knowledge, but her heart would forever be here, with Georg. Her face turned up to his, and her fingers froze—had she just considered him by his name, completely thrust aside every remaining propriety?

"I am sorry, Fräulein," he said, lifting his hand from her shoulder, his palm cool with the gap. "I have interrupted your playing for a second time." What had glowed in her eyes for that moment they had held each other's gaze? Had he seen what he thought, or was it merely hope?

"There's nothing to apologize for, Captain," she said, her fingers beginning again. The chords drifted up and down, as gentle and lilting as the tones of the Ländler the night before, as though _she_ were playing once more. Stepping back, Georg rubbed his palm over his face, breathing quickly.

"Agathe used to play the guitar as you do, Fräulein," he said, his hand drifting to the nape of his neck. _And she was just as lovely._

"Really?" Mara's hand moved to the neck of the guitar, shifting to lay the instrument across her lap. "Liesl had told me that you played, but I wasn't aware that—that your wife had."

"Yes, Fräulein, she did." A small laugh escaped him, and Maria's eyebrows dropped over her eyes. "I hadn't played anything for years, for in spite of their desire for me to know my way around various instruments, my family was never one to enjoy music. But Agathe could not live without it, and a few months after we were married, she almost forced me to sit at that piano again to accompany her guitar."

Pursing her lips, Maria turned to the Captain, drawing a swift breath. "What was she like, Captain, your wife?"

"Hmm?" His hand dropped as he found Maria's eyes. "Oh." He had not expected that question from her; he discussed Agathe with anyone little enough, and never a governess. But the woman he loved...with her, he could talk of anything. Glancing about, he caught sight of another chair and reached for it, drawing it nearer to where Maria sat.

"Well, she had a beautiful voice, and loved to sing, especially to the children. I don't think I had ever known a person so very kind until I met her. She was highly opinionated—rather like yourself, Fräulein—and determined." He smiled to himself, leaning forward. "She never shied away from telling me when I was wrong, and as you must surely have determined, I have needed that more than once. More than anything though, she was loving, and giving."

His eyes, so often wistful when he considered his wife, were constant now, and fixed on Maria. _I love you, Maria,_ he thought, wanting the words to spill from his lips, wanting to reach across to the woman he wished to marry. His words were hardly more than a whisper, and he wondered whether he wished her to hear them. "Just like yourself, Maria."

"You were very lucky to have found her," Maria said, her cheeks reddening at the intensification of the Captain's gaze, though she had not heard his breath-filled words. "She sounds a wonderful woman."

"Yes," Georg said, folding his hands together. _Yes, _you _are, Maria._ "And you know as well that when she died, I made rather horrible choices for my children. I wonder, now, just what she would think if she knew."

"I'm sure she would be pleased that you are so close to your children as you are now," Maria said, setting her guitar on the carpet, balancing her hands atop it. "And I'm just as sure that she still loves you, as much as anyone can see you do her."

"Thank you, Fräulein," he said, wishing to reach across for her hand. "But I must allow you to continue with your playing, before my herd of children interrupts your time on your own." He thought her mouth turned up in a smile as she lifted her guitar, setting it across her lap in a quick movement. _Beautiful,_ he thought. _Beautiful and wonderful and perfect._

Maria's fingers were on the strings again, the chords rising and falling smoothly, as gentle as he thought her caresses would be, and as sweet as she imagined his kisses. The thoughts made each ache, the gap between them yawning as wide as an eternity that no person could cross.


	43. Straightening the Path

**Chapter 43: Straightening the Path**

"So, Louisa," Maria said as the last of the children spilled out from the school room near their bedrooms, trapped within it since immediately after breakfast, "it's your turn to set the activity for the day—what are we going to do?"

Louisa grinned broadly as she twisted the tapered end of her braid around her finger. Yesterday, Brigitta had suggested they play a card game, and though she would rather have gone for a walk, or at least have been outside, Louisa had not argued; her siblings had nearly been asleep on their feet, still exhausted from the ball the previous day. _Another reason to dislike parties,_ she thought as Fräulein Maria looked at her with an expectant gaze. "I'd like to—"

"—go on a picnic," Friedrich finished, ducking away from the swipe of her hand. "Don't you ever want to do anything different?"

"_You_ always want to play some sort of game!" the girl snapped as she crossed her arms. "Fräulein Maria said it's my turn to decide today—"

"I did say so," Maria said, stepping between the two siblings, "and I would appreciate if you didn't make such comments, Friedrich. After all, Louisa did not argue when you wanted to play a ball game."

Friedrich shook his head, but answered sullenly. "Yes, Fräulein Maria."

"Now that that's settled..." Glancing down, Maria smiled at the sight of Marta. The girl had lost another tooth yesterday, despite being loath to allow her governess to help with it. "So a picnic it is?"

"With my whole family!" Louisa said, clapping her hands together as though she were a young girl again. "Just my family—all of us and Father!"

Maria's face came up with Louisa's delight, her eyes narrowing in doubt. For herself, she was certain the Captain would have more important things to do this day than spend it on a mountain picnic with his children; but why did she hope to be wrong? "Louisa, I'm not sure—"

"Please, Fräulein Maria, can't we at least _ask_ Father if he would come? All he can do is say no." A pleading expression filled Louisa's face, something Maria had never truly seen on the girl, and the face of every child was as hopeful as their sister's, eyes wide. "Please?"

"Oh, all right," Maria said, stumbling as Marta and Gretl clutched her tightly, whispering in suddenly excited voices. To spend the day with the Captain, Maria knew that was the last thing she should do, but the thought warmed her spirits. And to deny Louisa just the possibility of passing the day with her father, whom she resembled in so many ways...Maria had not the heart. "Go change into your play clothes, and I shall ask your father."

Every face was exuberant as they scrambled to their rooms, hurried words about "spending the day with Father" coming to Maria's ears. She just shook her head as she began the descent of the stairs; though the Captain had passed more time with his children over the last weeks than he had with Baroness Schräder, they were still more than eager to spend their days with him. To herself, though, Maria wondered if another part of the children's desire was to keep their father and the Baroness apart.

She sighed as she gained the foyer. They could never love Baroness Schräder—as a woman _or_ as a mother. Everyday, their disdain for her became clearer. As her steps carried her across the room, Maria knew she would never ask the children to show even the slightest affection for the Baroness; she simply would never be the mother they needed.

"...to do today, Georg?" Maria nearly jumped at the Baroness's voice, low and smooth from the Captain's study. The woman had not been awake for breakfast, just as she had not been the day before, and Maria had not expected to see her before lunch. Hurrying past the open door, she tried to calm her breath, and hoped to distance herself from the words that almost turned her stomach. "Surely you wouldn't mind spending it with _me_ today?" She could not face the Captain, not with Baroness Schräder at his side; he was practically engaged to her...Maria didn't think she could hold the tears she feared would burst free the moment she saw them together, the despair that would consume her to see the man she loved near the woman he meant to marry.

It was strange, Maria thought as she walked along the corridor to the kitchen, the largest part of her mind speculating about just what to bring for lunch. One part of her was pleased at Baroness Schräder's words, but another wished for nothing more than the Captain's presence—beyond the confines of merely the day.

_No,_ she thought as she reached the kitchen, white tiles gleaming in the morning sun, _don't think that. Don't even dream.

* * *

_

"Hmm?" His thoughts had wandered again, and he had hardly heard what Elsa had said. For a moment, he thought he had seen Maria go by the door of his study, and he had nearly bitten his tongue to hold himself from calling out to her.

"I asked what you were going to do today, darling," Elsa said, sighing dramatically as she reached over Georg's desk to rest her hand on his. "Really, Georg you've been so distant lately. Is that far away gaze in your eyes for me?"

He could not answer, not in the manner she wished; he was too grateful to her. He gently drew his hand from hers. "I'm sorry, Elsa," he said. "I didn't sleep well last night." It was not truly a lie, he knew, for his sleep had been restless, yet he would have that doze again and again—seeing Maria, feeling her bare skin beneath his fingers, her mouth against his, her breath on his face. If that was what he received for the sacrifice of his sleep, then he would gladly spend the following day exhausted.

"May I inquire as to the cause of that trouble?" Her painted lips forming a smile, Elsa was surprised that Georg did not return the expression. He had been so—disengaged for the days preceding the party, weeks in fact, but she had expected that with the ball's passing two nights ago, he would be himself once more. But he was farther away than ever.

"Perhaps," he said after a moment, leaning back into his chair for a moment. "Perhaps, Elsa."

"Then consider my inquiry made."

Georg smiled tightly at her. _Do what you must,_ he thought. _To string her along while you feel nothing for her is not what she deserves._ "Come now, Georg," she said, crossing her legs under the length of her skirt as she reached across the desk to slap his hand playfully. "There's nothing you can't tell me, darling."

"Well, Elsa, I'm not—I'm not sure..." His voice trailed to silence as he propped his elbows on his desk, clasping his hands at his chin. "I'm not sure how to say..."

Her eyebrows rose, for Georg was never so lost for words; indeed the only thought she had ever seen him struggle to express was exactly how greatly he had loved his wife. "Please understand, Elsa, I never meant for any of this to happen."

There was a sadness she could see in his face, a regret as he stood from his chair, walking around his desk to stand behind her, dropping a hand to her shoulder. But there was no affection in his gesture, but instead almost a contrition—an asking for forgiveness. "Meant what?" she asked, twisting her face upwards to meet his gaze. Nothing of the man she had met in Vienna, the man she had charmed and allowed herself to be drawn to was there. No, this was a different man entirely, one who had played ball games with his children, who had danced with their governess, who had stumbled in his dance with herself, as though he understood something at last. _A man in love,_ she thought, _and not with you._

Lifting his hand, Georg continued around to his desk, letting his weight rest against the wood. "This just can't work, Elsa, whatever we thought there was between us. It isn't there, and it can't be forced." She swallowed harshly, and blinked quickly at the gentle tears stinging her eyes. "Please forgive me, Elsa, but it would never have come out for the best, for anyone. I'm not the man you deserve, and I—" The words caught in his throat.

"Yes, Georg?" she asked, not turning away her gaze. Over the past weeks, she had wondered if it would eventually come to this, to this break between them. Oh, she had hoped and wished that it would not, but its possibility had ever loomed before her, and each time she followed his gaze and found Maria blushing furiously beneath it, she had lost another bit of that hope. And each time she saw that troubled expression that passed between them, she wondered, and nearly prayed that what she thought she observed was but her imagination, a figment of her mind...

But there was no denying it. She had known that Maria was in love with Georg, and now she had every certainty that Georg loved her just as much. For herself, Elsa had hoped it to be an infatuation with the girl's beauty and youth, a gratitude for what she had done for his family, yet there was nothing else for it—love.

Elsa saw him turn his eyes up to the ceiling for a moment, and she drew a deep breath. "I can't marry a person I don't love," Georg said quietly, dropping his eyes. "Understand, Elsa, I shall always hold you in the highest regard. I meant what I said your first day here—you are my savior. You saved my life that evening we met in Vienna."

"Georg—"

"I hope you will always understand that."

"Georg," she said louder, reaching up her hand from her chair to touch his arm, drawing his gaze another time. "I would never ask you to do something you cannot, and I would never ask you to abandon the woman you love." The words were not so difficult to speak as she had thought, and even as they came, the weight of doubt that had been settled on her rose. More than anything, she wished for his happiness. "Maria is—very fortunate. I don't think that young lady will ever be a nun."

His eyes widened, for he could never have hoped for Elsa to be so kind as he at last told her that everything she had dreamed of had been only that—a dream. "I am sorry, Elsa," he said again as she stood. It was so difficult to hold her gaze, to ask her to look into his eyes, to see nothing but love for another woman.

She only shook her head. "Don't be, darling. Our time together has been wonderful, and I will treasure our friendship, if that is all it is to ever be." Lifting one hand, she touched his cheek gently. "Now, Georg, if you'll forgive me, I'll go upstairs, pack my little bags, and return to Vienna where I belong." Leaning to him, she brushed his face with a light kiss, as she might kiss her dearest friend and smiled as she drew back. "_Auf wiedersehn_, Georg." Tightening her hand around his arm, she smiled gently, then left the room without a glance back.

It seemed as if a darkness had lifted from his heart as Elsa's proud form passed through the door of his study, as though his path was finally straight once more. Yet, what now? How was he to tell a postulant, a future nun, that he loved her, that he wanted nothing more than to marry her? _Carefully,_ he said to himself, pressing his fingers together beneath his chin. _Or you may lose her forever._ He didn't know if he could stand to lose the woman he loved a second time.

It had pained him enough to lose Agathe, but he had been able to do nothing, had done nothing to create that loss. The fever had overtaken her body, and he had been unable to do anything, either to help or hinder her condition. _You were merely the cause of it,_ he said to himself, _the reason—_

He drew a quick breath. How she begged him, implored him to call their priest, her sunken blue eyes shining and desperate. "Please, Georg," she had whispered, hardly able to form words in her dry throat, her tongue still parched despite the water he offered her time and again. He had been so unwilling, afraid to call for Father Simon, unable to believe. Yet how would he lose Maria? If he were rash and quick and unwilling to listen to what—

A quiet hand tapped on the door frame, drawing Georg out from his thoughts. "Come in."

Stepping around the door frame, Maria glanced down nervously, waiting for Baroness Schräder's sigh of annoyance. Only silence greeted her though, and as her face came up, she was surprised to see no one but the Captain, a broadening smile on his mouth. "May I help you...Fräulein?"

"I'm sorry for the interruption, Captain," Maria said, "but—" She fell silent at the shaking of his head.

"You could never be an interruption, Fräulein," he said, beckoning her to come in. His heart beat quicker at the simple sight of her, and for a moment, he was amazed at the way she eased his mind. Seeing her once more, everything he had spoken to Elsa he knew to be true with a deeper resolve than he had ever thought possible. And she had appeared so suddenly that for a moment, he wondered if she were a dream, or some other creation of his mind—a vision that the freedom filling his heart had conjured.

"I don't know what I think about that," she said as she entered the room, rubbing her arms gently. Her dress seemed to be the same one she had worn the day he had returned from Vienna with Elsa, the day he had allowed himself to be overtaken by his pride. _One of the worst mistakes of your life, you ass,_ he thought, standing straight from his desk. "I'm afraid that at the abbey, one of my worst habits was being everywhere I should not have been."

"Nevertheless, I mean what I said," he said, his smile growing even wider as the thoughts of what trouble she had surely found herself in at the abbey. But the thought of that dark building, its staid confines...

_You love a postulant,_ he told himself again, _and you intend to ask her to forsake the vows she believes God has called her to, to end a part of her life._ But he could not conceive of Maria as a nun; everything about her was what should not be confined to a cloister. And her face as they had danced the Ländler, something more than a friendship had been in her eyes, more than a girl trying to please her employer. Something stronger, longer lasting than mere companionship. _Perhaps even love?_

Did he know how her stomach tightened at that smile, Maria wondered, did he know how her knees threatened to buckle, how heat flooded every bit of her body? _You cannot _let_ him know,_ she thought, _not if you ever want to hold his gaze again._

"I thought I heard Baroness Schräder here," Maria said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I did not want to disturb you."

"Oh, no—Elsa left a few minutes ago," Georg said. _Why do you not tell her the entire truth, that she will not be coming back, _he asked himself. The words were settled on his tongue, but he could not force himself to speak them. _Are you actually _frightened_? Of what? Seeing that you have been a fool, and considered something that was never there?_

But Maria's face had turned from a quiet emptiness to nearly a sadness. _Not yet,_ he thought. _Not yet._ Frowning at her darkened expression, Georg crossed the room, pausing a few meters from her. "Is there anything I can do for you, Fräulein?"

"Not for me, for the children," she said, still rubbing her arms, wanting to fidget. It was not right that he should draw out so many emotions in her, that he should lead her to desire such things as could never be. Why could Baroness Schräder not have stayed, Maria wondered; she had never wished for the woman's presence but for now, as a reminder of the gap that must remain between herself and the Captain.

"Very well," he said, stepping back as he observed her discomfort, "what may I do for yourself and my children?" He wanted only to be near her, but her wishes and desires in that moment rose far above his own.

"If it is at all possible, Captain, Louisa would like you to join us on a picnic today."

"Again?" he asked, and Maria smiled, her awkwardness forgotten in the moment.

"Yes," she said, nodding her head. "She does rather enjoy them, though I can't tell if she does more so because of the fresh air in the mountains or simply because it irritates Friedrich."

"Ah. A hard distinction to make," he said, allowing himself to chuckle quietly.

"Have they always been like that?" she asked, letting her arms fall to her sides.

"Since the moment Louisa could talk," Georg said. "I can't remember what their first disagreement concerned, but rest assured it was nothing important. I don't think I've ever seen them argue about a thing with any true value, though I have often wondered if there is a single thing that pair wouldn't quarrel over."

"Probably nothing is beyond them," Maria said, laughing quietly. She was so lovely in her mirth, and her joy filled himself so completely, Georg knew only one thing that would add to his happiness: to let his arms surround her, to pull her to him, to whisper every word concerning her that had ever entered his mind. And to allow everything that was in her heart and mind be his as well, to know every part of her, as if there were no difference between them, as though the skin that bound their two bodies but held two halves of the same soul.

"Will you come with us, Captain?" Maria asked, folding her arms behind her back. "They would be ever so happy if you would." A tinge of red colored her cheeks; the word _we_ had nearly spilled out rather than _they_.

"Of course, Fräulein," he said, taking that step forward once more. "I will do anything with my children, or for them." _And you,_ he thought, stiffening his fingers to hold his hand to his side, the hand that wanted to cup her chin and draw her face to his mouth. _No,_ he said to himself, _not yet._ Raising his hand, he stepped aside. "After you, Fräulein."

Did her smile seem easier than before, he wondered. For once since the party two nights ago, it seemed to truly fill her face and her eyes as though she had not forced the expression. Following her, he smiled to himself. Holding her in his arms that evening, feeling the blood that pumped in her veins, nothing had ever been more right, and now to do so again was no longer a dream.


	44. Certainties

**Chapter 44: Certainties**

"I don't know how long it has been since I was last here," Georg said, draining the last drops of his lemonade. The hike up the Untersberg had been invigorating to say the least, the scent of the clean, warm air he had so long forgotten suddenly a need. And the sun, the breeze that rippled the grasses along hillside...Everything he would ever need, he found surrounding him now. "Years, at least."

"We were here...three days ago, was it, Fräulein?" Liesl asked, turning to her governess as she took another bite of her bacon sandwich. "We had a rehearsal for our song."

"At the beginning," Louisa said, stretching her arms over her head, tightening the kerchief of old drapes around her braid. "Then of course, it all went silly. You should have heard Friedrich and Kurt singing _Edelweiss_, Father—it was awful!"

"It wasn't that bad, Louisa," Maria said, settling Gretl deeper in her lap. Over the previous day, Maria had thought the little girl seemed less energetic than usual, and now as she held Gretl in her arms and felt her shiver in the light breeze that ruffled her hair, she knew the girl had the beginnings of a cold.

"It certainly wasn't good," Louisa said, raising her own glass. Georg laughed as he leaned back, his palms on the blanket Maria had tucked into the corner of one of the picnic baskets.

"Well, that's what happens when you don't try to sing well," Maria said, laughing as she tightened her hold on Gretl. "Your brothers sing quite wonderfully when they put their minds to it."

"Whenever _that_ is," Louisa said under her breath, leaning away from Friedrich's attempt to punch her arm.

"Children," Georg said, warning in his voice. Louisa sighed, but turned to the apple sitting by her knee on the blanket without further comment. Letting his weight settle forward again, Georg smiled. "This really is a beautiful place, Fräulein."

"I've always thought so," Maria said, running her fingers through Gretl's hair. "Ever since I was a little girl." She smiled as she found the Captain's gaze, able for a moment to forget the unsettling sense in her heart. "It was always a place I could find peace."

A flash Georg could not read crossed her eyes as her hand ceased to brush Gretl's hair. Something, he decided, there was something in her past that caused her pain. He had seen it the day before as she could not turn her eyes from his. There were painful memories, she had said, and whatever they were, they were deeply buried within her, almost a poison, to his mind. But the moment seemed to pass quickly, as she smiled again, dropping her face to kiss Gretl's forehead, the little girl seeming content despite her pale face.

_She would be a wonderful mother,_ Georg thought, glancing away at the sounds of Friedrich and Louisa rousing their brother and sisters into a game of chase. _No, she _is _an excellent mother. Gretl, Marta, perhaps even Brigitta can have no real memories of Agathe. Maria will be that for them completely. And what of the others?_ Catching sight of Liesl dodging Friedrich's grasp, he had to chuckle. _Every one of them loves her as much as they loved Agathe—as much as they will always love her._

"Just go to sleep, Gretl," he heard the young woman whisper, rocking the small body in her lap back and forth. "You'll feel better after a short nap."

"But it's hardly afternoon," Gretl said, pretending she did not feel the yawns breaking in her throat. "I'm old enough..." Her words ended as she could not hold down the gape that filled her face.

"That doesn't mean you're not tired," Maria said. "Do try and get some rest, dear. You don't want to get sick, do you?"

The child shook her face vehemently, her entire body shuddering in the expression. "Will you stay with me, and sing something, Fräulein Maria?" Her eyelids were already fluttering as she leaned into Maria's chest, not waiting for an answer.

"Of course, darling—so long as you rest." Pursing her lips, Maria cast around her mind for a song, one that could amuse Gretl's playful nature. "_Ich m__öchte wohl der Kaiser sein!_" The girl giggled in her lap, wrapping her arms around her governess's waist as she leaned in closer. Smiling, Maria shifted the child in her arms, lifting her from her elbow.

"_Den Orient wollt ich ersch__üttern; die Muselmänner müssten zittern, Konstantinopel wäre mein sein! Ich möchte wohl der Kaiser sein!_" It was amazing, Georg realized, that Maria could soothe the girl so quickly, that her voice could be so gentle. _A marvelous mother. No,_ he tried to tell himself, _how can that ever be, she is a postulant—_

But he didn't care. If it cost him everything—honor, reputation, anything but his children—he would have to tell her. "..._Kaiser sein! Athen und Sparta sollten werden, wie Rom die Königen der Erden, das Alte sollte sich erneu'n! Ich möchte wohl der Kaiser sein!_"

To tell her that he loved her, that he wished to marry her, if she would have him, that he wanted her to be the mother of his seven children—he could not let her go until he had spoken that much. "..._Die besten Dichter wollt ich dingen, der Helden Taten zu besingen, die goldnen Zeiten führt ich ein! Ich möchte wohl der Kaiser sein!_"

Gretl's weight had settled easily in her lap as Maria finished the stanza, and her breathing had slowed to the ease of a light doze. "I love you, Fräulein Maria," drifted up from the girl, and Maria smiled as a tear stung her eye.

"I love you, too, Gretl," she whispered. For how many more weeks would she be permitted to be with these wonderful children, comfort them, hold them close and love them as though they were her own. Five, perhaps six. As she had stood before the gates of the Von Trapp villa that first day, she had believed the weeks would be slow, the passing of time would hardly seem possible to mark. But they had sped by instead, until she wished more than anything for them to slow. Every one of the children had become so dear to her—and so had _he_.

Her gaze rose to the Captain, his own eyes on her, almost glowing in the early afternoon sun. Only a few weeks ago, she would never have dreamed to see this, would have thought him entirely out of place. Sighing, she hugged Gretl closer to her body, the child sniffling a bit against the sudden congestion in her nose.

"Here," Georg said, pushing himself to his feet, walking the short distance to her. "I'll take care of her for a bit." Cocking his head toward the boisterous laughter he heard from across the field, just beyond his sight, he chuckled quietly. "I'm sure the children would enjoy your company...Fräulein."

Maria shook her head gently, brushing a few wisps of hair from Gretl's face. "No, Captain. I promised I would stay with her. But I'm certain the children would not mind including you in their game." She bit her lip for a moment, but continued. "They would do anything with you, Captain; they always wanted to."

"I know," he said, not stepping back from her. "And I have you to thank, Fräulein, for forcing me to see them. Without you..." The rest of his words he could not speak to her, for if it had not been for her, he would surely be engaged to Elsa by now, perhaps preparing to send his children to a boarding school, to lose them forever.

"You would have seen them sooner or later, Captain," Maria said, slipping a stray strand of her own short hair behind her ear, lifting her hand above her head to block a sudden stream of sunlight. "It would only have been a little longer." Smiling up at him, she nodded at the children's noise. "There's no reason you shouldn't enjoy yourself in whatever they're doing, Captain. I'll be fine with Gretl."

Georg's own lips were twitching in a grin; he had never taken one of his children's governesses up on a suggestion before, but he felt that for this young lady, he would make an exception. "But I can still thank you, Fräulein." He backed away suddenly, nearly stumbling at the quickness of the step, before the desire to reach out and touch her face, her hair became too much to fight. "I shall see you in a few minutes, then," he said. "When they've run me down."

Watching the Captain walked toward the sound of delighted children echoing over the hill, Maria found herself frowning, as much as she wished to grin at his remark. Never before had she truly admitted to herself how much she craved his presence, how she ached to be near him every moment she could not be. She had not bothered with trying to deny that she loved him, but that he could fill her mind so entirely, that she could be so consumed by him...she sighed.

_Five or six weeks,_ Maria thought, watery eyes glancing to heaven as a surge of anger rose within her. _Weeks! How could You do this to me—lead me here, allow me to fall in love, only to demand that I leave him and these children! Why!_ Shaking her head, Maria swallowed, biting back the bitter taste of tears in her throat; raging at God would do nothing.

In her grasp, Gretl shifted, arms flailing in her sleep. "You haven't changed a bit," Maria said, lifting the girl from her lap to lay her out the blanket, remembering how the child had stomped her foot for attention the first day they had met, and held out her hand to give her age rather than speak. Smoothing Gretl's light brown, gently curling hair over her shoulders, Maria smiled. "And I hope you don't, darling." The girl shivered in the light breeze that skimmed across the grass, hardly a wonder in her short sleeves.

Twisting her own body, carefully unfolding her legs that she had tucked beneath her skirt, Maria stretched herself out beside Gretl, resting one arm over the child's shoulder to hold her closer. Brushing her lips to Gretl's cheek, Maria let her body relax beneath the warmth of the sunshine. _Enjoy these moments,_ she thought. _You have so few of them left, so very few..._Her eyes closed against the heat of Gretl's tiny body. _Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes...

* * *

_

"When did you all become so fast?" Georg asked Kurt as he bent over, clutching at the stitch in that ached in his chest beneath his jacket. "It used to be I could out pace even Liesl."

"How do you know we became faster, Father?" Kurt asked, smiling as he dodged his father's arm.

"I'll have to tell Frau Schmidt to hold off the apple strudel for you tonight for that remark," Georg said, the smile on his own face betraying his jest.

"He doesn't need it," Louisa said as she neared her father and brother. Georg's eyes widened in a feigned horror, for she was still the one chasing the rest of them. "And Frau Schmidt might look the other way when he tried to steal a piece."

"I wouldn't," Kurt began, his already sun-reddened cheeks darkening indignantly, but Georg waved for them both to be silent.

"In any case," he said, finding the strength to stand straight once more, "I'm afraid you'll just have Kurt to chase, Louie." He chuckled lowly at her grimace as she smoothed a bit of her dress. "I've quite lost my energy."

"You mean you've _run out_ of it," she said, taking another moment to tighten the knot of her kerchief.

"It that's how you would say it, then yes, Louie, I've run out of energy. I'll not slow down your game any longer." His eyes twinkling, Georg stepped aside, and Louisa's face cracked into a wide grin as Kurt stumbled backwards. Leaning to his son, Georg whispered behind his hand, "I think you should run."

The boy had managed only a few steps before Louisa was flying behind him, her hand outstretched. Shaking his head, Georg began the short walk back to the place where their blanket and picnic baskets still sat, to Gretl and Maria. Just the thought of Maria could ease his aching body and quickened his steps.

Even in the moment he realized he loved her, he had been completely unprepared for how strongly she would consume him, and the ease with which she did so. Elsa had used every bit of her charm, her smiles and wit, and yet he had still been unable to find the love he sought from her. Cresting the gentle slope of the hill, Georg held a small smile; Max would certainly not be anticipating the events that had passed in his absence, and he found himself almost eager to see his friend's thoughts.

_His opinion should be interesting,_ Georg thought, catching sight of their picnic things—and his daughter and her governess. His breath nearly stopped in his throat the nearer he came, for he had never before seen Maria so at peace, almost vulnerable, clutching Gretl as they both slept. The beat of his heart quickened the nearer her he came, with every detail of her body that became clearer.

His feet paused at her side, and for a moment Georg simply gazed down at her, that calm that was over her filling himself. _So very wonderful._ Settling himself on the blanket beside her, opposite Gretl, he blinked at the heat of the July sun, feeling more than ever the weight on his bones. To be near her was all he could have in this moment.

The grass and blanket were soft beneath his back as he let himself rest beside her, the soft whisper of her breath filling his ears. Her hair shone in the afternoon sun, and her eyelids fluttered, perhaps as she dreamed. To take her in his arms, to hold her until she awoke, to feel her heart beating against his chest—that was all he wanted.

_Don't,_ he told himself, drawing back the hand that had already begun to reach to her. _There are words you must say to her first, things she must decide before you may even consider what you want._ Propping himself on his elbow, he sighed at the sight of her so very close. Reaching over her gently, he brushed the wild strands of hair from her forehead, even the warmth of that small touch a wonder against his skin. "Sweet dreams, _meine Liebe_," he whispered, pulling his hand back to his side.

Could he hope for what he wanted, Georg wondered as he let himself fall back to the blanket, crushing the grass beneath his back. He knew he should not, but after the morning, after the day before, after the Ländler, he was very much afraid that no matter what he might hear of Maria's words, he would.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The song Maria sings to Gretl is titled by the first line, _Ich möchte wohl der Kaiser sein._


	45. Seeing Clearly

**Chapter 45: Seeing Clearly**

Gretl yawned as she woke, squinting in the sudden light that filled her eyes. She might have stretched her arms and legs, but a strong arm was wrapped around her torso, holding her tightly. For that moment, she felt entirely safe, as though nothing would ever be wrong again. Shifting closer, Gretl smiled; she had never been held this way before, as though...

"Mother?" she whispered, lifting her head from the blanket. "Mother?" Twisting within that arm's embrace, her eyes found Fräulein Maria, her face relaxed in sleep. Gretl's brow furrowed gently. _Mother?_

From in the distance, she heard the sounds of her brothers and sisters, shouts from Liesl and Kurt, laughter from Louisa and Friedrich. Gretl wrinkled her nose. Most of the stuffiness in her head had faded with her short nap, and now she wanted to be a part of whatever game it seemed her siblings were enjoying. Tossing aside Fräulein Maria's arm, she scrambled to her feet, following that sound.

Her arm thumping against the picnic blanket as Gretl no longer supported it, Maria blinked awake, catching a last glimpse of Gretl running away into the distance. _Just like a child,_ she thought, smiling to herself. _Never wanting to be pinned down._ A slight burn felt as though it had spread across her face, and she propped her head up with her elbow for a moment, shading her eyes with her free hand. The sun had fallen a ways in the sky since she had laid down.

A excited shout from Gretl passed over the hill on the gentle breeze as she found her brothers and sisters. _She'll be all right,_ Maria thought, turning on to her back. Lifting her arms to fold them beneath her head, she was surprised that her elbow brushed something, and that she heard the gentle, constant sound of breathing. Turning to her side, Maria's own breaths nearly stopped even as her heart grew quick.

The Captain had never been so close to her, and had never seemed so at peace, as though there were no care in the world. His visage was utterly calm and at ease, and so near she would hardly have to reach out her arm to touch him. Yet she wanted him closer, to put his arms around her and never let her go. The redness that was surely already on her face from the sun darkened at the thought, but still she wished for it, to know the warmth of him holding her tightly.

These moments, no matter the ache that grew within her as she knew they were impossible, without merit, she wished for them again and again, to merely be near him. And more—everything she had ever seen in the length of the nights, anything her mind had ever permitted her to dream of, she wanted it all, to know him completely, to be his, to have the seven children she loved so desperately to call her 'Mother.' She wanted all of that, and that it would never be burned her deeper than anything ever had. But to just lay beside him, feel the lightest traces of his breaths on her skin...the sheer joy of being so close to him would fill that ache for the dream.

How long she simply lay there watching him, Maria did not know. Some time, for too soon, the sounds of the children came closer, their game ended in the heat of the afternoon. _Not like this,_ she thought, sliding her body away from his, wanting to press her lips to his, feel his arms around her shoulders and his touch on every bit of her skin. _You cannot let them see you like this._ Sitting up, she groaned quietly as a crack came from her back.

"Captain," she said quietly, glancing toward the growing cacophony of the children's voices, catching sight of the first of them, Marta and Gretl. "Captain." Her hand reached toward him slowly, cautious at first. "Captain." His shoulder was warm beneath her palm, the muscle strong as she shook him gently.

His eyes opened languidly, almost unwillingly, and he squinted immediately. His gaze traveled to her, and there was a sudden softness within it, a tenderness she had never seen, as though— _No,_ she told herself, _that's not possible._

Sitting up, Georg held a yawn, for the afternoon sunshine was still enough to lull any person to sleep. Yet to sleep again, to see those dreams again, dreams filled with memories...and rising above the rest, that first morning at Mass, his words to Father Simon, thoughts he had hardly considered once they had passed.

_"I am selfish, Father," he whispered, unable to meet the priest's eyes._

_"You have made mistakes, Captain," Father Simon said, reaching over a comforting hand to his parishioner's shoulder. "All do, for there is none among us who is without sin but for Christ."_

_"I nearly denied her the last thing she wanted," Georg said, resting his chin on his folded hands. "The very last thing she asked of me, I almost did not give to her." Lifting his gaze for a moment, he sighed._

_"Your wife?"_

_"Yes. She asked again and again that I send for you to offer the last rites...but I would not. I could not allow myself to believe she would die." Rubbing his eyes, Georg swallowed. "I could not believe that it would come to that, that she would leave me—that I could do nothing to prevent it. Not until..."_

_"Captain," Father Simon said, lifting his hand, "if her death was meant, then there was nothing for you to do—you did nothing to cause it—"_

_"But I_ did!_" Georg snapped, standing from the wooden pew as his anger rose, that same anger that had only been pushed aside by coldness. Running his hand over his face, he breathed again. "I gave her the fever. The children were on their way to recovery—and I gave it to her. If not for me..." His words trailed to silence as he glanced to the heavens, despite the ornate cathedral ceiling. "It not for me, she would still be alive."_

_"Captain," the priest began again, "neither you nor I can know the mind of God. There was surely purpose behind it."_

"Captain?" Her voice interrupted the memory, as sweet as an angel's. "Captain, we should be heading back to the villa, before Frau Schmidt decides we've lost ourselves up here." He would never deny Maria anything she asked for, of that much he was certain; he cared for her too much, too recklessly to let himself fall into that failing again.

"Yes, Fräulein," he said, standing perhaps too quickly, for the world swam before his eyes, and he stumbled a step backwards.

"Captain?" His vision settling, he glanced down to Maria, still sitting on the blanket, her legs bent just beneath her skirt. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course...Fräulein," Georg said, offering her his hand. Her gaze examined his palm for a moment, but then she extended her own, wrapping her fingers in his, each one warm in his grasp. He drew her up, reaching for her elbow to help her balance as she gained her feet.

"Thank you, Captain," she said softly, smiling up at him. His eyes were so warm, inviting, speaking every emotion she had ever seen within him, and even that tenderness she had thought to see a few moments before—

_Oh God,_ she thought, her small smile fading, at last understanding, seeing what had been plain. _No, anything but that! You let him see—and let him be taken in by that! Oh God, Maria, how could you be so foolish, so_ stupid!

"Fräulein?" His words seemed to come from a distance. "Fräulein?" Tugging her hand and arm from his hold, Maria stepped backwards, the sense of longing she had felt the night they danced the Ländler rushing over her, knowing that she had already lost herself in his gaze, that soon she would be drowning in him. _No,_ she told herself again, _you can never ask that of him—to make the sacrifice that loving you will require of him! Not if you care for him as much as you claim to._

"Father!" Marta shouted, the first of the children to reach them. "Why did you go? No one was around to tell Louisa she couldn't have Brigitta chase us as well!" Her father did not turn to her though, his eyes still fixed on her governess. Glancing to Fräulein Maria, Marta's eyebrows knitted together; Fräulein Maria's face was red, darker than anyone else's from the sun, and seemed almost sad. "Father?" she said again, reaching up to pull on her father's hand.

"Yes, Marta?" he said, still not glancing to her.

"Why did you leave us?" She pulled his hand again, and at last his gaze came to her.

"Well," he said, forcing a smile as he bent down to scoop the young girl into his arms, resting her weight against his hip, "you children have far more energy than I do anymore. You wouldn't want to have to leave me on this hillside, too tired to go home, now would you?"

"No!" she exclaimed, giggling as she clasped her arms about his neck.

"Then that's your answer," he said, tapping her nose before he bent to set her on the ground carefully, her body too heavy to bear for any great amount of time in his already tired arms. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiled to see the rest of his children making their way over the hill, all bearing light red sun burns, just as Maria was, and himself, he assumed.

"...just change the rules, Louisa," Kurt was saying angrily, reaching up to snatch at his sister's kerchief.

"It was more interesting," she snapped, slapping his hand away and hastening her steps. "It would be boring if we played tag the proper way every time!" Georg had to bite his lip to hold his laughter. _Maria will never be able to correct Louisa's argumentative nature,_ he thought. _No matter how long she is with us._

Remembering Maria, he shook himself gently, catching sight of her kneeling down to fold their picnic blanket. Resting his hands on Marta's shoulders, Georg nudged her in the direction of her brothers and sisters. "Go on," he said, "we'll join you in a moment." His daughter smiled up to him for a moment with her even more toothless grin, then ran to her siblings, taking Liesl's hand. _They're all growing up so quickly,_ he thought, turning to Maria. _And they need a mother._ Why had he not seen it that first night, seen the ease with which she calmed them in the storm, how swiftly she had come to love them as her own. _Because you would not permit yourself._ But he had learned, taken the hard road and learned—and found it had led him to love.

"Let me help you, Fräulein," he said, lifting one of the wicker baskets from the corner of the blanket. Maria tugged the blanket into her arms, folding the material carelessly as her gaze remained down.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice so low he had to search to hear her words. "But you need not worry about helping me, Captain."

His hand had reached out to her, taken hold of her wrist before he had his wits about him, to stop himself. "Nonsense—it is a pleasure, Fräulein," he said, wondering at the tensing of her arm and the crimson that darkened beneath her sun burn. What had Elsa said? _"__I don't think that young lady will ever be a nun."_ Then perhaps it was no dream, no impossibility...His hand shifted to grasp hers properly, wanting to twine his fingers through hers, draw her hand to his lips, address her as his heart demanded—as the woman he loved. "It always shall be."


	46. My Hands and Heart

**Chapter 46: My Hands and Heart**

Raising his glass, the red wine sparkling in the light of the lamp, Georg breathed slowly, determined that for the time being, he would simply enjoy his wine. After that...How to say what he had to say...That he had to say he loved her, no matter what would come of it, _that_ much was certain. Yet how, for so much seemed against him—them. Tipping the glass back, he took a deep draught. Loving her, that he could never doubt, whatever the cost. _As much as I ever loved Agathe..._

He had been a few months out of the navy, just before the armistice and Austria-Hungary's disgrace. In that moment, he had been searching—for that one person to trust, to hold in friendship, to help him weather the storm that his nation had never deserved. _And that was Agathe, the caring person I needed. _How quickly, though, it had grown to love, fed by a passion he had never known he had possessed.

For the years after her death, he had looked for that same friendship, searched for that love, hoping to find it as he had found it with Agathe. At his meeting with Elsa, he had hoped—believed his search finished, that she would be the answer to his prayers, the beginning of his healing. _Things aren't the way they were,_ he thought, lifting the glass to drain it. _Nothing is the same as it was. But that does not mean that it cannot be just as wonderful and just as blessed._

He would be a fool to believe that loving Maria would even resemble loving Agathe, and even now he chastised himself for thinking that the origin of that love should have been the same. No, he should have recognized—_something_ that first moment he beheld her in the ballroom, bowing deeply to a partner none but her own mind could see, when she sat on the pine cone his children had left on her chair and refused to be angry with them, when she had comforted six children frightened by a thunderstorm and made an excuse for Liesl, and when she had shielded seven children terrified of their father. Pressing the glass to his temple, he sighed. _And when she cared more for your children than she did for herself, as though they were her own..._Agathe he had seen first as a friend, but Maria he had loved so quickly for being everything he was not. _Everything and more._

Settling the glass on his desk, Georg winced; from the drawing room, a heavy hand tapped a key on the piano, loosing a harsh, unpleasant sound. _Clearly, an unpracticed person,_ Georg thought as he stood from his chair, pushing it back on the polished wooden floor. Rather than drawing forth each tone, this player pressed each key with an unneeded strength in the manner of the untaught. As he stepped into the foyer, the sound grew louder, ascending a scale with an uneven beat, the use of the thumb painfully apparent with each accent.

Coming to the door of the drawing room, a smile filled his face even at the awful noise in his ears. Maria sat at the piano, her hand wandering up the white ivory keys, and in the wash of afternoon sunshine, she was beautiful. _And wonderful and loving...and everything you could ever want, Georg._

Perhaps she had sensed his thoughts on her, or perhaps she had merely heard his footsteps through her playing. Her hand rose from the keys as she turned to glance at the door. "Good evening, Captain," she said, folding her arms across her chest. Earlier, at the end of the afternoon on the Untersberg, he had fancied to spy a sadness in her eye, a sadness or even despair that was plain to see now, and the gentle flush on her face, as though she were embarrassed.

"Good evening—Fräulein," he said, nodding his head as he stepped into the room. Oh, God, her name had been easier to speak than that word.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asked, beginning to stand from the black bench.

"Hmm? Oh, no," Georg said. For a moment, he had only seen the glittering of her eyes. "Please don't get up. Did you ever learn to play?" He waved his hand toward the piano as he crossed the room.

"No, Captain." Twisting back to the instrument, she let one of her hands touch the keys again, her fingers stumbling over one another as her hand was nearly flattened, and Georg smiled. "When I was a child, I was taught enough to know which notes were which, and a few scales, but I never learned to play a song."

"Well then," he said, holding a smile as he stood just behind the bench, "the first thing I shall have to teach you will be how to hold your hand. You'll never play anything if you keep trying _that_."

Maria laughed as she looked down to the splayed fingers of her right hand, too low to even reach, let alone properly play, the black keys. "I suppose it is wrong." As her fingertips tripped over the keys again, Georg breathed easier as the light tinge of her face faded, her mind turning completely to the piano.

"Uh...may I?" Georg asked, gesturing to the bench. Nodding, Maria slid to one end and Georg settled himself on the other, holding his foot from the damper pedal. There it came again, Maria felt, the unsettled ache that churned in her stomach at his presence so near, feeling more right than ever. "Here," he said quietly, reaching for her hand. For a moment, she drew it back, but he captured her fingers swiftly. She felt limp in his grasp, her hand utterly pliable as he shaped it in a curve, guiding it to balance over the keys. If he caught her gaze...

"You should be able to play something like that," Georg said with a small smile.

"Thank you," she said, waiting for him to drop his hand, but he held fast. His hands were warm and strong, and despite the impropriety, she wished to feel them on her shoulders, on her back, holding her to him.

How could the simple act of clutching her hand in his own quicken his heart? He didn't know. But anything and everything about Maria drew that from him, until at times Georg felt his heart would jump from his chest. Nothing had happened in the way he had envisioned it—his children, Elsa, Maria—yet he would have it no other way. He loved her, and no other.

"Captain?" Her voice was so sweet, gentle and soft; while he wondered that it had drawn him back, he knew that it always would, just as she would ever have his heart. "Captain?"

"I'm sorry," he said, lifting his fingers from hers, hardly able to believe the trembling he saw in her hand. "Perhaps you would like to try that scale again?"

She had a small smile on her face as she began the rise of the notes, pressing her thumb, index, and middle fingers properly. But Georg had to laugh as she proceeded to her ring finger. "Come now, Fräulein," he said, reaching for her hand again. "You can't play a scale like that." He cupped her hand carefully in his palm, gently bending her thumb beneath her other fingers.

"Thumb, index, middle, then thumb again," he said, waving his hand for her to begin again. "Just a simple C scale, Fräulein." Her beats were still irregular and her thumb still too heavy, and with a light laugh, he took her hand once more, hardly thinking about what he did. "Learn to lighten that thumb, or you'll never perfect your playing."

Her smile had faded when he found her eyes, shining with love he could so easily see, and tinged by fear. Pushing her hand toward the keys again, he meant to release her from his hold, but he found he could not, not when he finally had her so near. _I love you, Maria,_ he wished to say, to let the words well up in his heart until he could not contain them any longer, to kiss her until he no longer had breath in his body, until he could no longer remember where she left off and he began...

Tugging on her hand, Maria wondered that he did not hear the blood pounding in her ears. Or could he? His face wore that same expression she had seen earlier that day, tender and kind and something more—that love she could never seek from him. "Captain," she said quietly, struggling a bit to stand "I really must go check on the children. They'll soon be done changing for dinner—"

"Maria," Georg said, her name so simple to speak, "please don't go." Her hand tensed in his grasp, and a quiet flush came across her face again. Had he called her by simply her name before, she wondered; no, he hadn't. Raising her eyes to meet his, Maria swallowed, for what did she see there? Love, yes—that same love she had thought glowed within him but this afternoon. No, she could never ask that of him, ask him to endure all the embarrassment that loving her would mean for him.

"Please, Captain," she said lowly, hoping her voice did not shake as terribly as she felt her hand did, "I really must see to the children—"

"You can't pretend to be worried about the children, Maria, and you can't run away this time, not again." His other hand came to clasp her fingers between his palms. He could not let her go, not until he had said what he knew he must. "I pushed you away once, and I regret that I did, but you've drawn back so many times. Please don't leave me again."

More than friendship lingered in his tone, almost a desperation in his words as Maria's hand quivered. One of his hands rose to brush light strands of her hair from her forehead, a warmth in her skin following every touch of his fingertips. "Captain," she said, her voice shuddering as greatly as her body, "where is Baroness Schräder?" A tear burned in one of her eyes at the name, but she had to remember—_he_ had to remember just what was to be. If she could not dream, then she could not permit him to, either.

"The Baroness returned to Vienna this morning, Maria," he said, drawing even closer to her, hungering for her presence, "where I hope she will be happy. She does not belong here, in Salzburg...or with me."

"What?" Maria asked, hope fluttering in her heart. Perhaps—that tiny glimmer of hope that was always forsaken—he felt the same tormenting stirrings that she did? Could that even be true? Did she have the right to _hope_ for that?

"Yes," he answered, dropping his hand to her cheek, stroking the soft skin of her face, wiping away that quiet tear that slid down from her eye. His second hand came to touch her other cheek, and his fingers met beneath her chin to cup her face. "She shall never belong with me, Maria."

"I don't understand," Maria said. Did her voice betray her lie as she thought it did? Could he— _No. Remind him,_ she said to herself. "I thought—I—"

"—that I was to marry her?" Her words had been spoken by her eyes, the utter sadness within them. She nodded gently despite his hands beneath her face, his fingers soft, nearly delicate. "Never," he whispered. "Never—not when I love you, Maria." Her eyes widened as his thumbs traced her cheekbones.

"I love you," he said again, the words spilling out as easily as that tear that had traced its path on Maria's face. "I feel that I always have, and I know that I always will. You can never ask me to stop that, Maria, for I will never be able to—I shall always love you."

There had been fear in her face, but now, a smile curved on her lips as a joy banished that fear. He brushed another few strands of her pale hair aside, drawing her closer to him, until their foreheads nearly pressed against one another. Maria's hand rose to his face, her touch warm. "How can this be happening to me?" she whispered, letting her eyelids close as his palm covered one of her cheeks. Leaning into his hand, she sighed lowly. "I love you, too."

"Hardly a confession I would expect from a nun," Georg said, a mad grin on his face, a sudden joy filling him, "though I am quite pleased to hear it."

"Not a nun," Maria said, opening her eyes and smiling to herself at his confusion. "I knew that was never meant to be after we had danced the Ländler—I knew that I loved you, that I could never cast aside what that meant, try as I might." She shifted her face in his grasp. "There is nothing left for me at the abbey but memories and friends—not my future."

"Is that with me?" he asked, shifting closer to her, the small space between them too great, needing to feel her body pressed against his as he had needed it earlier.

"Yes. Perhaps you would like to hear it again?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"More than anything."

"I love you...Georg." Those words were so simple to speak, so easy and right, as though she had wished to speak them forever. He was so close, and for the first time, she did not wish to draw away for any sort of propriety, but wanted to be nearer, to wrap her arms about him and never let him go. And now—it seemed that her desire and want could no longer be wrong.

His fingers were still beneath her chin, tilting her face upwards, his breath on her face as when they had danced the Ländler those few nights ago. Had she not run from him then...His lips touched hers lightly, gentle at first. How long she had wished for this, to know the taste of his mouth, the thudding of his heart beneath her palms as she rested her hands on his chest. Forever, it seemed as he drew back from her, his eyes bright.

"Do you know for how long I have wished to do that?" he whispered, letting his hands drop from her face to go around her shoulders, pulling her to him.

"No," Maria said, pressing her cheek to his chest, smiling as he echoed her own question, "but I would like to."

"Since that first day you forced me to sit at this piano again," he said, his hands rubbing her back, working out every last bit of tension beneath his fingers. His gaze turned to the window, as if he could see her standing there again, strumming her guitar as the light of the day spilled over her face. "And every day after that."

"Really?" Maria asked, lifting her head.

"Truly." Cupping her face again, he drew her face to his, kissing her again, deeper this time. He had lost himself in her when he felt her arms around his neck, drawing her nearer to him, knowing nothing but how marvelous she was in his arms, wondering what he might ever have done to deserve the love of such a generous, faithful, loving, kind, beautiful woman. _You _don't _deserve her,_ he thought, _but she offers herself to you anyway. Always be thankful for that._

"Maria," he whispered as he pulled his mouth from hers, falling into the unfathomable depths of her eyes.

"Yes, Georg?" she asked, loosening her arms about his neck.

"Is there anyone I should go to," he began, pausing to kiss her cheek, "to ask permission to marry you?" Brushing his lips to her other cheek, he drew back to examine her face, the surprise, the joy filling her countenance.

"Well," she said, her mouth forming a grin, "why don't ask—"

"—the children?" Georg finished with her, laughing with her as his hands on her back pulled her tightly to him once more, enjoying every sensation of her body, each breath and beat of her heart that could be felt.

"Will you marry me, my love?" he whispered into her hair, clutching her even nearer, determined that he would never let her go. Her gentleness, her sweetness was all he could ever need, all he could ever want. "Will you be my wife, Maria?"

A gentle sigh rose from her body, shuddering against his as his hand rose along her back. "Yes, Georg," she said, twisting her face up, kissing him again. "Yes, beloved, yes." Running a hand through his hair, still mussed from the afternoon picnic, Maria smiled. "Yes."

"Oh, my love," he said quietly, pulling her nearer. "I feared I should never hear that from you, that once September had begun, I should have lost you forever."

"So I was not the only one," she said, her eyes shining with her sudden tears. "Even this afternoon—"

"Don't cry, Maria," he said, drying the wet tracks with his fingers. "Don't ever cry for what will never be, my love." He kissed her again, deeper than ever, a greater passion rushing his veins until he felt her shiver in his hands. But he wanted—needed more from her—everything that was her. _Everything..._

"Captain," Maria managed as he pulled from her searching for his breath, each hearing the noise of the children filtering from the foyer, wild chatterings mixed with laughter. Every touch and kiss was as wonderful as she had imagined and dreamed, everything she had hoped for, but now... "Georg—that will be the children, changed for dinner."

"Perhaps I should not allow them to catch me in such a position with their governess?" he said, smiling broadly as he stood from the piano bench, offering his hand to her, to his fiancée.

"Something like that," she said, taking his hand and pulling herself to stand. His free hand came to the small of her back, drawing her forward and pressing her entire body to him as he captured her mouth again.

"Well, how long do you think it will be until they notice something, my love?" he asked after a moment, pulling away just far enough to speak, still feeling her breaths on his skin.

"Not very long," she whispered, reaching up to kiss him gently.

"Good," he said, cupping her face as he let his forehead rest against hers. "Good."


	47. Asking Permission

**Chapter 47: Asking Permission**

"Are you feeling better, Gretl?" Liesl asked, bending down to tilt Gretl's small face up to hers. "You didn't look too well this afternoon."

"I'm _fine,_" Gretl said impatiently, jerking away from Liesl's hand, stumbling a step backwards. "Fräulein Maria stayed with me."

"You still don't look well," Liesl said, reaching to brush her sister's hair over her shoulders. "But if Fräulein Maria was with you, I'm sure you _will_ be fine." With a smile, she drew her youngest sister into a quick hug, and the child giggled in her arms.

"...really think so...Captain?" their governess's voice came from the drawing room, followed swiftly by their father's quiet laugh.

"Entirely," he said as they emerged from the room. Glancing to her _fräulein_, Liesl felt her eyes narrow. There was a happiness over her Liesl did not think she had ever truly seen—joy even. Her smile seemed broader and truer, the sparkling of her eyes brighter. _Something is different,_ Liesl decided. _But what?_

"You all look lovely," Georg said, leaving Maria's side to swoop Gretl up in his arms, his gaze traveling over all his children. Every one had a pink face, and Louisa's nose fairly glowed with the sun she had taken in that afternoon. But a half hour ago, every face had been smudged with dirt, hair had been unkempt, and their ridiculous play clothes had been soaked with sweat. "Much better than I last saw you. At least your faces are clean."

"It's not our fault that Friedrich chased us until we fell," Brigitta said, rubbing her hand over a bruise on her upper left arm.

"At least it was only _me_ running after you," Friedrich snapped, ducking away as Louisa swiped at him. "I caught all of you just by myself."

"And we had the dirty faces to prove it," Louisa said as she scowled, twirling a lock of her curling hair around a finger. Maria smiled at the girl, whose hair had been entirely disheveled before the family had reached the villa; her brothers had managed to snatch her kerchief several times each as they had walked ahead of the group.

"Whatever the case," Georg said, settling Gretl on the wooden floor once more, "each of you looks like you are ready for dinner."

"It's past time!" Kurt said, not seeing the rolling eyes on his older siblings' faces.

"In that event," Georg said with a smile, waving his hand toward the dining room, "please lead the way." While the children walked towards the dining room, he turned to Maria, taking the free moment to reach for her hand.

"We'll tell them in a few minutes?" she whispered as he lifted her hand, kissing her fingers gently.

"Now, darling, do you really think we could hide the truth any longer?" he asked as his hand twined with hers, leaning in to kiss her mouth gently. To hold back the passion roaring in his blood that had already consumed him, that seemed ready and able to take her as well needed every ounce of his self-control.

A light blush flowed over her cheeks as she stepped back, drawing her hand from his, having felt the quickening of his pulse, perhaps even that passion glowing in his eyes, nearly matched by the desire in her own. "Not really."

"Then we had better be in there soon..._Fräulein_, before they begin to wonder if I've stolen you away from them." He had to grin at that word, _fräulein_; after this evening, he need never call her that again.

As they gained the entrance to the dining room, Georg struggled to hold his hand back from grasping his fiancée's once again. Her face was bright as he beckoned her to go first, not able to keep himself from touching her arm. Maria turned to him for a moment, smiling to herself as his hand tightened on her wrist. "After you—Fräulein," he said, the word almost false.

"Thank you, Captain," she said, not drawing her arm from his grasp. His kisses had been so sweet and gentle, and she longed to feel them again, to have his arms around her once more. But not yet, she had to tell herself, not yet. As she entered the dining room before Georg, she longed to be by his side, to be able to touch his arm when she wished, to capture his gaze not from across the table but next to him. No, she said to herself again, the children had to come first.

The family seated at last, Brigitta glanced twice at her father: the chair normally occupied by the Baroness during meals had been removed. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to her governess, by whose arm Uncle Max's chair sat, still empty, for he was late, as usual. But even on the days he had been absent, in Salzburg on some form of business, his chair had ever been left in place.

"It seems Max is running behind our schedule again," Georg said, shaking his head. Liesl held close the question that had risen on her tongue, her curiosity as to where Baroness Schräder was. The look on Fräulein Maria's face...could it be, she wondered. Was it actually possible?

"Fräulein," Georg said, smiling at his fiancée, "will you say grace for us?"

"Certainly...Captain," she said, bowing her head as she folded her hands. Following suit with her brothers and sisters, Brigitta bit her lip gently. There was an easiness around the table she was unused to, as though everything was at last peaceful, and right. "Lord," Maria continued, "we ask that You make us thankful for this day, for this meal we about to receive, for understanding, and for your marvelous blessings. Amen."

"Amen," the rest of the family chorused, and the silence that was fallen in that moment filled with the clatter of hands reaching for napkins and the nearest dish of noodles. Scooping a helping onto Gretl's plate, Maria felt her stomach tighten. Certainly the children liked her—that much she had gathered from their desperation to have her return from the abbey—but for her to marry their father, to truly become a mother to them...An entire world of difference existed between that and being their governess.

"Father," Kurt said after swallowing a mouthful of pasta, "do you know what we are doing tomorrow?"

"Certainly not another picnic," Georg said, pretending he had not noticed Louisa's frown. "In any case, I thought you took turns making that decision."

"They do, Captain," Maria said, glancing to the youngest girl beside her, who was sucking on one long strand of spaghetti. Reaching towards Gretl, Maria lifted the child's fork from the table, offering it to her. "You know better than that Gretl." The girl had a small smile on her face as she bit the piece of pasta in her mouth, taking the utensil from her governess.

"I'm sorry, Fräulein Maria," she said turning to her dinner once more to twist the noodles about the prongs of the fork.

"So long as you learn," Maria said, tossing the girl's hair over her shoulder to keep it from dropping to her dinner plate. She returned her attention to her own meal for a moment, then glanced to the Captain again—to Georg, her fiancé. "Was there something else, Captain?" She wondered that she had not grinned as though a fool, then.

"Just a thought, Fräulein, though I would be loath to set your system of allowing the children to choose their activities off by a day." He reached for his wine glass.

"I think we might be able to make an exception for you, Captain," Maria said, no longer able to hold back her smile. The same quiet confusion filled Liesl again as she rested her fork against her plate for a moment. Her governess was indeed happier, and more peaceful.

"What sort of exception?" came Max's voice from the foyer, drifting into the dining room. Every child smiled at the sight of him as he moved round the table towards his chair. "You must forgive my ignorance, Fräulein."

"How kind of you to join us at last, Max," Georg said, pausing as he sipped his wine. "I had begun to wonder if you had lost yourself in Salzburg, never to find your way back to us."

"And miss out on this marvelous cuisine?" Max asked as he seated himself beside Maria. "Goodness gracious, Georg, it will take more than getting lost to rid you of me."

"Such dreadful luck on my part." The children giggled at Max's feigned anger as he reached for the nearest dish of pasta, spooning a large helping onto his plate. Returning his glass to the table, he took his fork. "Though I shall have to make use of you Max, and ask a favor."

"And what would that be?"

"I'm afraid I must ask if I may leave my children in your care tomorrow," Georg said, ignoring the sighs around the table. "For the morning, at least."

"An excellent idea—I shall have them prepared for the Festival before—"

"Max, do not try that again." The sigh of his friend, he had no difficulty ignoring.

At Georg's side, Marta crossed her arms on her chest. As much as she enjoyed spending time with Uncle Max, she would have preferred to pass the day with her father and Fräulein Maria. But time with Uncle Max would be fun, certainly; they had hardly had any, as he had spent his days either in Salzburg or with Baroness Schräder.

The girl's eyes widened as she looked across to Liesl, by whom the Baroness always sat—her chair was gone. She reached for her father's hand. "Father?" He gave her no response, and she turned to follow his gaze—to Fräulein Maria. "Father," Marta said again, tugging on his coat's sleeve impatiently until he turned to her, "where is Baroness Schräder."

"An excellent question, Marta," Max said, smiling across the table to his friend. "And one that I have been pondering since I sat down. I thought I was ever the latest one in this household."

"And you would be correct, Max," Georg said, pulling his napkin from his lap, wanting to chuckle at his old friend's frown as he returned to his dinner. "Children, and yes, you, too, Max—Baroness Schräder returned to Vienna this morning."

"Now, Georg," Max said, glancing up from his pile of noodles, "why wasn't I informed of this? You know I am here at your villa as Elsa's chaperone."

"Oh, and only that reason?" Georg asked around that laugh he could no longer hold. "I've hardly seen you fulfilling that role in the past few weeks."

"Well you can hardly expect me to confess to being a sponge as my purpose." The children laughed as heartily as Georg at that remark, though Maria only smiled. "I needed to claim some occupation during my time here, since you've robbed me of the job of managing the Von Trapp Family Singers."

"That I have." Setting his fork beside his plate, Georg's gaze traveled to Maria, his fiancée, to the smile he could see mirroring the joy in his own heart. "But in any case, Max, I do hope we shall soon have a true need for you around this house, provided I hear what I hope from my children."

Liesl's fork scraped the edge of her plate as her face came up, her eyebrows dipped in confusion. While their father often teased them, he rarely spoke in riddles, not even in the time before their mother had died. "What do you want to ask us, Father?"

"I would like to have your permission for you to have a new mother." Now confusion came across every child, and Georg had to glance down to his pasta to avoid grinning broadly at his fiancée. As much as he loved his children, and knew they loved Maria, the chance to form an amusement from their ignorance was impossible to resist.

"A new mother," Liesl repeated. But Baroness Schräder was no longer here...Across the table, Brigitta felt her heart quicken and as she twisted her fork in the noodles on her plate, her eyes turned to her governess. Fräulein Maria's face was radiant, a smile upon her that Brigitta had never before seen, as though she were in the midst of the greatest joy of her life. Taking a deep breath, she glanced to Liesl, the same understanding on her oldest sister as she bit through the strands of pasta on her fork. _I can't believe it,_ she thought. _It seems too good to be true._ Beside Friedrich, Louisa held her smile close with a sip of water.

At Maria's side, Gretl's tiny face broke into a frown. "Father," she said as her eyebrows came together, confused, turning her face from her father to her governess, "will we still have Fräulein Maria?"

"Well," Georg began, taking a moment to examine each of his children, a small smile beginning on his mouth, "unfortunately—"

"Because if we lose Fräulein Maria, I don't want a new mother," the child said, not understanding the growing expression on her father's face. At Georg's side, Marta nodded, the dark strands of hair tumbling over her shoulder.

Georg's laughter broke free as he examined the serious glint in Gretl's eyes, mirrored on Marta's face. But the others, at least the girls, perhaps even Friedrich, they seemed to understand already, mirth in their faces. "I am sorry, Gretl," he said as his laughter quieted, "you will no longer have a Fräulein Maria." Catching the gaze of his fiancée, the hardly contained grin on her own lips, he felt the warmth filling his heart rush even quicker. "However, children, with your permission, I would like it very much if you would call your _fräulein_ 'Mother.' "

The forkful of noodles Gretl had been bringing to her mouth fell back to her plate with a clatter, her hands coming together as she clapped delightedly. "Do you mean it, Father?" Marta asked from beside Georg. "Really?"

"Would I ever lie to you, Marta?" he asked, sliding his chair backwards, and standing to pull her up in his arms.

"No!" she said with a giggle, hugging him about the neck. Still seated at the table, the three eldest girls smiled to one another, and the boys shook their heads at the sudden emotion swirling about them. But Georg could see the joy in their faces, the happily bemused expression on Kurt and Friedrich's bitten back smile.

Maria had given up trying to calm Gretl's excitement with words and had risen from her seat to embrace the girl tightly, brushing her hand through the child's unruly tresses. Indeed, only Max seemed unaffected, pouring over his friend's words.

"Well, Max," Georg said, shifting Marta in his arms as he caught the contemplative glance, "what say you—shall we have you around for the wedding?"

"I'm afraid I think you will have to endure me until then," Max said, feigning a sigh. As wholly as he had hoped for Georg and Elsa to marry, the happiness so simple to see in Georg, the children, and Maria meant far more than anything he could ever wish for. Lifting his napkin, he dabbed his lips gently before pushing his chair back to stand. Dropping his hand to Maria's shoulder, he smiled as she turned her face to his. "You must let me be the first to congratulate you, my dear."

"Thank you, Herr Detweiler," Maria said, flushing as she peeled Gretl's arms away from her waist, standing to meet his gaze.

"Oh, come now," he said,waving his hand, "no more of this 'Herr' and 'Fräulein' business. You must call me Max." Taking her hand, he drew it to his lips in a gentle kiss. "Though I must congratulate Georg on snaring you."

"Hardly that," the Captain said, twisting away from Marta, suddenly squirming in his arms. Bending down to set her on her feet, he expected the girl to take her seat once more, but instead his daughter dashed around the table, wrapping her arms around Maria's waist as soon as she could reach her governess.

"I love you, Fräulein Maria," she said, the words muffled by Maria's dress. Gretl's face scrunched for a moment before she embraced her governess again, and Georg had to smile, for the image seemed so natural. Still at the table, the older children's smiles grew even broader, Brigitta now standing from her chair to join her younger sisters in hugging Maria.

Rolling her eyes, Louisa stood as well, walking to her father's side to pull him into a tight hug. "Thank you, Father," she whispered, stinging tears in her eyes as his arm went around her shoulders.

"I'm not sure just who should be thanking whom, Louie," he said, smiling at his daughter. "Without all of you..." His words fell to silence. _Without my children,_ he thought, _none of this would be._

"Then," Max said, tapping his foot impatiently as he caught his friend's darkened eyes, "_you_ shall have to ponder that while I ask an equally important question."

"And what is that?" Georg asked. Maria's deep blue eyes had come to his, glowing with quiet, happy tears, the three youngest children clutching her even tighter. Nothing had ever been more right than seeing her standing there, holding his children, loving them as strongly and as recklessly as they loved her.

"When shall Frau Schmidt deliver us that delicious apple strudel?" As the dining room filled with his children's laughter, his own and Maria's rising alongside, Georg was certain he had never before heard a thing so beautiful.


	48. Into My Solitude

**Chapter 48: Into My Solitude**

The dim illumination of twilight had fallen over the Von Trapp villa, and the trees of the garden shaded the paths that Maria and Georg walked upon slowly. Liesl had been asked to keep an eye on Marta and Gretl until it was their bedtime, and had agreed more quickly than either her father or governess had expected, and in the end had nearly forced them from the house.

Her hand twined in her fiancé's, Maria was grateful, though, enjoying every lazy step she took. They had been in silence for a time, each simply enjoying the company of the other, when Georg's steps slowed. "Did the children surprise you?" he asked, glancing to her as their walk finally ceased.

"Not really," she admitted with a grin, resting her head against his shoulder. "I just hadn't expected them to be _quite_ so pleased."

Georg laughed as he kissed her forehead, drawing his hand from hers to hold her to him. "Surely you jest, my love." His eyes sparkled. "After all they went through to get you back, do you really believe they would let you get away?"

"I suppose not," Maria said, reaching up to run her fingers along her cheek.

"And don't think I would have let you escape, either," he whispered, capturing her hand with his.

"I certainly hope not." Lifting her face, she kissed him, desperate for the taste of his mouth, for the sensation of his lips pressed to hers. Pulling her hand free, she clasped both her hands around his neck, pulling herself even closer to him and shuddering as his fingers rose delicately along her spine, finally tracing the line of her shoulders.

Everything that was in her desired him at that moment—needed him—wanted all of him. She held herself nearer to him, the heat of his body and the passion she could feel within not enough. In his arms, feeling his heart beat against her she felt so loved—more than she recalled before. Ever.

Pulling away, Georg glanced down to her as he felt her stiffen in his embrace. "Is something the matter, Maria?" he asked, his pulse quickening at the sudden darkness in her eyes. Her face began to drop, but he caught her chin with his hand, cupping it to hold her gaze. "Please, Maria, what is wrong?"

"Nothing," she whispered as she stepped backwards, but his hand moved lower to the small of her back, refusing to let her leave his hold.

"You're running from something." Maria swallowed at his clarity, as though he could see into her soul, and find every memory of her father. "Please, my love, let me help you." Reaching up to her face, Maria took his hand, threading her fingers through his as she drew it down once more. "Please, Maria. Whatever you may say, I shall keep to myself."

"You need not keep it," she whispered, her blue eyes clouded as she gazed into his. "Outside of you and the children, all those for whom I care have already been made known of it." She breathed deeper for a moment. "What I said to you—when you returned from Vienna—"

"Darling, do not speak of that; I still feel the pain of what I did that day." Wrapping his free arm around her shoulder, he kissed her forehead, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. "I always will."

"We were both angry, Georg, I told you that before."

"Yourself, rightfully so," he said, his brow furrowing as those words rose in his memory, almost hearing them once again. _I said I don't want to hear any more from you about my children!_ "It was only my pride that was wounded."

"You can't change the past," Maria said, blinking strongly.

"That doesn't mean I can't regret it," he said, hugging her even closer. The simple presence of her body drew away the pain of his error. "Or hate myself for my words."

"Please, Georg," she whispered, drawing their joined hands upwards, resting both atop her heart. "Please don't think about that any longer. I do not mean to speak about what either you did or I said, Georg. What I mean to tell you is—is _why_ I felt the need to say what I did."

Glancing up to him, she sighed. _You can't hide this,_ she thought. _Not from him._ "Your children needed a father so much, and I will not lie to you, Georg, you were no father to them then. You were distant, and you could not feel the love that they had for you, nor show them that which you clearly had for them."

"Maria—"

"Please," she said, her eyes almost desperate, "just allow me to speak. I do not mean to criticize you."

He brushed her cheek with a kiss, and drew back from her with a gentle smile. "I will not try to silence you again." His silence would not ease this, she knew, but there was nothing else for it.

"I have never told you of my past, Georg—well, nothing beyond what I might have said in passing. At times, I cannot believe that you love me without knowing any of it." His grip grew stronger as he shook his head.

"Nothing could be further from the truth, my love," he said, finally taking another languid step, Maria falling in at his pace. "I think I should have come to love you in spite of anything."

Her eyes were shining with tears, he saw, tears he did not understand. "My mother died when I was eleven; I think only Liesl knows that much, for I told her when we were making the children's play clothes the first day you were gone."

"You began them that soon after I left?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.

"The instant the children had finished their breakfasts," she said with a grin, the weight of memory lessening as they passed beneath the shade of a tree in the early evening's twilight. "I did not waste a minute. Your daughter is quite a good seamstress, you know, Georg."

"She had an excellent teacher," he said, his gaze narrowing at the quiet drops on her face. Pausing in his steps again, Georg drew her to him, pressing her body to his, feeling the shudders of her breaths. "What is it, my love? Please, Maria, don't try to keep it to yourself."

"After—after she died, I was left with my father, and he was cruel." She pulled herself from him, catching his gaze. In the shadows of the night that fell across her face, her visage seemed hollow to him, her eyes dull and sunken. "At his hands, I endured everything—bruises, broken arms, one or two broken ribs."

How was it that simply speaking these words eased the weight of those memories, made their pain simpler to bear? It certainly lightened her, but her fiancé, it seemed to darken his spirit. "Do not look so upset, darling," she said, reaching her free hand to his face, "it is far in the past." She smiled gently, tugging on her hand. "I can't feel my fingers, Georg." Even taking on the weight of that remembrance, she felt so safe the closer she was to him, as though she could bask in a comfort she had never known.

"I—I'm sorry," he said, loosening his grip. _How? _he wondered, not believing what she had said. _How can you be so kind, having endured so much?_ "But it pains you, Maria, and so it causes me pain as well."

"You make it easier," she whispered, resting her free hand on their entwined fingers. "Everything is simpler when I bear it with you."

"I am glad of that." His other hand came to take her second, reveling at the warmth of her fingers. "But please, Maria, tell me whatever it is."

"I know what you did after—Agathe died was not intentional, Georg," she said. God as her witness, seeing the love he had for his children, it could be anything _but_ intentional! "I know that it was borne of desperation, and pain, and trying to find a way to go on. But what it did to your children! Every time you pushed them aside, every time you ran to Vienna to escape the pain of your memories: every time you distanced yourself from them, that gap hurt them more than any of the bruises my father left on me."

She blinked away tears at those memories, so long buried, and still painful despite how near she stood to her love. "He loved my mother, Georg, but he never loved me. For myself, the love I had for him was tenuous all my life, and it faded as the years wore on..." Still she could see how deep his affection for her mother had been, yet for herself, there had been none, as though he had none left to give.

"But your children, Georg, they loved you—they still love you more than anything, and just as you could not feel their love, they could not feel that which you had for them, and it almost destroyed them all."

"I could not see it," Georg whispered as he let one of Maria's hands fall, beginning to walk again, his fiancée matching his steps easily. How could he have been so blind, how could he have been such a fool? He had asked himself that so many times since that shouting match on the veranda, and he had never found an answer. "I must thank you," he said finally, turning his face to hers. "You had the courage I did not—to see that I was so far from them, and to force me to see it as well." A gentle, bitter smile on his mouth, he leaned to her once more and kissed her forehead.

"You know," she said, searching for any thought to lighten his despair, "after you sacked me, I almost turned right around to tell you that you would have to send me off with help from your Navy cohorts."

"Really?" he asked, shifting his hand in her grasp. If he could be no nearer her, could not hold her her closer, then he would settle for such small contact. "I don't know if I would ever have managed to be rid of you, then. All my comrades from the Navy would probably have insisted you stay, and bring me to my senses."

"Perhaps I should have made the argument, then."

"Perhaps," he said, allowing himself to smile once more. This woman loved him, and beyond that, nothing seemed to matter, nothing beyond her hand clasped in his, her body so near his own. "May I ask you, darling—after everything I did to you, how could you ever come to love me?"

Shaking her head, she tightened her hand around his. "I have no idea, Georg. All I know is that before I could stop myself, I was well on my way to being completely in love, with no idea how to stop it. Denial, running...none of it worked."

"And I hope you are as glad of it as myself," he said.

"Well I surely hope you would not need to ask."

"It seems it is now my turn to confess something," he said, chuckling gently as their pace slowed again.

"What?"

"Do you want to know when I first started loving you?" Maria nodded, and his free hand drifted to her face, cupping her chin and drawing her to him for a gentle kiss. "That night at the dinner table, when you sat on that ridiculous pine cone."

Her laughter was utterly sweet, warming him entirely. "You do know, my love, you were the first governess who never came directly out and reprimanded the children for any of their tricks."

"I can't imagine why," she said, laying her face against his shoulder. "To do so would have only angered you."

"Why else do you think that pine cone appeared on your chair, Maria?" Rubbing his hand on her shoulder, he felt her sigh as much as he heard it.

"So perhaps you would have sacked me then, rather than waiting until you had returned from Vienna?"

"Most likely." The thought of being without her now...that made his stomach drop. "But the moment you leapt from your seat, I wondered what sort of lecture I should hear for my children for that pine cone—and I was most surprised to hear a _lie_ from a postulant. Terribly amusing, my dear, as you were that entire evening, I might add, even when you were dancing around your bedroom with our children."

"And yet you still fired me," she said, laughing again as she lifted her head.

"That I did," he said, pressing a light kiss against her cheek, "and you may say whenever you wish that it was foolish and selfish of me." _Incredibly so._

"Don't you dare think that I won't," she said gently, brushing a lock of his dark hair from his forehead. "But I knew the first time you blew that silly whistle." A sly grin broke on her face as her fingers ran in his hair. "Would you like to have it back? I tucked it away in my bedside table that day, and it has not been moved since."

"No, thank you, my love. I would rather forget any period of my life here that involves a whistle." Shaking his head, he glanced back to the house, seeing not the windows of his children's rooms, still glowing with their lamps, but the memories he longed to forget: signals, uniforms, the silenced laughter and love of his children... "You were right in your assessment that it would be too humiliating to answer its call."

"Georg," Maria said, lowering her hand to his cheek, "stop thinking about it. All that is past." How she had such an effect on him, he did not understand—that merely her palm on his skin could draw him from his melancholy.

"Thanks to you," he whispered, pulling her to him once more. "All thanks to you, my love."

"You would have seen them soon, Georg," she whispered, her hands clutching his shoulders as her words rose. "It was only a matter of time."

"But I can still thank you," he said, bringing her mouth to his once more, wanting to never let her go. His hands rose along her arms to her shoulders, pressing her closer to him, until the rapid beat of her heart pounded as strongly against his chest as his own. She shivered beneath his touch, and for a moment, he thought he felt her struggle against his arms and the fire that pulsed in his blood, wanting and needing her. Yet when he pulled away at last, unwilling to lose control entirely, Maria's eyes were wide and shining, and she searched for her breath as she let her body mold itself to him, melting in his embrace.

"If that is how you shall do so, Captain," she said, still grinning as her fiancé's gaze narrowed, "then please—thank me all you would like." He kissed her once more, and her senses pulled her into him, leaving herself behind.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Once again, thanks to **imnotacommittee** and **Thoroughly Modern Philly** for the comments they made on this chapter.  



	49. Loving and Leaving

**Chapter 49: Loving and Leaving**

"What do you think the Reverend Mother will say?" Georg asked as the car's engine dwindled to silence before the abbey gate. Though gratified by his children's approval, their wholehearted enthusiasm, more than anything Georg wanted, almost needed, the permission of the Reverend Mother, the nearest person Maria truly had to a mother, before he could consider their engagement something more than a dream he was living.

"Hmm?" Maria had hardly heard his words, and had instead lost herself in gazing at him. "I'm sorry, Georg—what did you say?"

He laughed as he leaned to kiss her lips gently, rubbing the back of her neck with his fingers. "I'll have to learn not to take advantage of your wandering mind, darling," he whispered as he drew away. "But what do you think your Reverend Mother shall say when she learns I'm coming to steal one of her postulants forever, rather than for a few months?"

Resting her head against his chest for a moment, Maria let herself laugh as well. "Good riddance, probably," she said quietly, "and that it took us long enough."

"Is that all?" he asked, shifting back and opening his door.

"Perhaps," Maria said, sitting straighter, her gaze following her fiancé as he walked around the car. "I doubt that she'll be surprised."

"I suppose I should be grateful of that," Georg said, opening the passenger door and offering his hand to her. Though Maria pushed herself to her feet with her own strength, he pulled her up as well, and she stumbled a bit, her body falling against his.

Even the morning sunshine seemed far away from Maria as the entire length of her body pressed against his, feeling the heat that was _him._ Thoughts of the abbey and the Reverend Mother had faded as her hands came up to draw his face down to hers. She hungered for him, for more than was possible at the moment, for all of him, and she nearly protested as Georg tugged his mouth from hers.

"Maria," he whispered, "as much as I enjoy kissing you with abandon, we really must remember why we're here."

"I know," she said, dropping her head to his shoulder, a blush crawling on her cheeks. A great part of her could not believe what she had just done, and wondered what might have come—were they not on a public street, had Georg not pulled himself away. "I'm sorry."

Lifting her chin with a finger, Georg bent to brush a kiss against her cheek. "_I'm_ not," he said with a grin and a brighter coloring of her face, "but I suppose we shall have to continue that elsewhere." Proffering his arm to her, he helped her to balance once more before closing the car door behind her. "And," he continued, his mouth near her temple, "preferably not so nearly in the company of nuns."

"I don't know if they would be surprised," Maria said with a laugh as the approached the abbey's gate. "They came to expect everything from me here, except for punctuality."

"And _that_ does not surprise me." Wandering into the darkened patch of road beneath the shadow of the abbey's wall, Georg reached for the bell cord by the gate, tugging on it twice. As his hand dropped, he turned to his fiancée once more. "Does it sadden you to leave this place behind?" His hand gestured to stone structure before them.

"A little," she said, her gaze rising to the precipice of the wall. "I have so many wonderful memories of this place...except for my disagreements with Sister Berthe?"

"Dare I inquire?" Georg asked, his free hand traveling to her slender waist, drawing her close to him for a moment, dropping as she stiffened. Though he could read the joy in her eyes easily, he also fancied to see a bit of darkness, and a new, desperate restraint, as though she remembered where they stood, their purpose this morning. _There will be time for you to hold her later,_ he thought, _when she is not parting with her past._

"The Mistress of Novices," Maria said, feeling her face take a pink shade. Her place was with Georg, but to be so close to him now, waiting to enter the abbey while those things his simple presence led her to desire filled her mind's eye...something about that incongruity made her shiver. "We could hardly agree on anything, and whenever we had a disagreement, she had me kiss the floor if she won the argument—which she always did."

"I think I shall refrain from any comment on that," Georg said, smiling as he caught the quiet click of steps from within the abbey. "But I think that one of the sisters has finally taken notice of us."

A shadowed figure approached the gate from within, taking form the nearer she came to the morning light. Her face visible as she reached the iron bars of the gate, Maria felt her spirits lighten at the shine on the nun's spectacles. "Sister Catherine!" she exclaimed, a delighted smile spreading over her face. "It's wonderful to see you again!"

"And you, Maria," the nun said, smiling even as her eyebrows rose, surprised to see Maria and Captain von Trapp at the abbey a second time, curiously without a child in sight. She lifted the latch of the gate quickly. "Please come in, both of you." Stepping back on the ancient, worn stones of the abbey, she drew the gate open, beckoning them to enter.

The nun's eyes narrowed as she considered what she saw, and for a moment, she wondered if she needed to wash the lenses of her glasses. Though Maria had been fair bubbling with joy the last time she had seen the girl, this was a happiness Sister Catherine had never before seen in Maria. And her hand, clutching Captain von Trapp's arm...Weeks ago, the image would have been impossible to see, and even more difficult to hold her tongue against. Now, though, Maria seemed entirely at peace, her arm shifting so that her hand could clutch the Captain's fingers.

Shaking herself, Sister Catherine let the gate fall closed, working the latch of the lock another time. "Please follow me," she said, striding ahead to lead the couple— She nearly stumbled with that word. _Maria and Captain von Trapp a couple? No,_ she thought. She was surely imagining things, allowing a man's chivalry to get the best of her mind. But the happiness in Maria's face, _that_ was more than what even the most naïve young girl would feel in the simple kindness of a man. The light of the morning pouring over them once again in the abbey courtyard, Sister Catherine turned to Maria and the Captain. "What may I do for you?"

"If at all possible, we would like to speak to the Reverend Mother," Georg said, tightening his hand in his fiancée's. His eyes falling on Maria, even the quiet apprehension he felt in this place seemed easier.

"Oh?" Sister Catherine's eyes widened, worry rising within her. "Is something amiss, Captain?"

"No no no," Georg said, smiling and waving his free hand towards her, though his gaze hardly turned from Maria. "No, Sister, something is finally right."

Did she read him properly? Her heart pounding at a painfully quick pace, Sister Catherine hoped she did. Though she loved Maria dearly, as if the girl were her own daughter—so many of the nuns of Nonnberg held her close, knowing the emptiness of Maria's childhood—she had seen almost immediately after the girl's arrival at the abbey that she did not belong within its walls. Her feet tripping along the halls in her own private dance, the wonderful tune of her whistling filling the air about her, and always, always her voice that could not hold itself from song. But on Captain von Trapp's arm, there seemed something...complete about Maria, and final.

"Sister Catherine?" Maria's voice was ever so sweet, gentle as bells, softly lilting while it easily drew Sister Catherine back to the abbey's courtyard.

"Forgive me, my dear," she said, reaching forward to squeeze the girl's arm carefully; she could no longer conceive of Maria as a postulant. "You seem so happy this morning."

"I am," Maria whispered, leaning against Georg's shoulder, hardly feeling the weight of the eyes on her from about the courtyard. "More than ever."

"Well then, I shall take you to see if the Reverend Mother can spare some time for you. Please follow me."

The request was rather superfluous for Maria, who had many times traipsed the path to the Reverend Mother's office on her own, trying to form an apology expressive enough, or an excuse valid enough to gain forgiveness for her latest infraction of the rules. Yet this morning, Maria found her heart beating anxiously and swift, a gentle fear rising within her throat.

_What if..._That question had been playing through her mind since the previous night. _What if she does not approve?_

As they came to the first corridor, Maria could not imagine the Reverend Mother as anything other than delighted, yet still the doubt would not abandon her. She loved Georg with all her heart, everything that was her, as deeply as she loved the children; to have the Reverend Mother, a representative of God, express disdain for where her heart had led her...the despair would easily tear her in two. Turning the corner to the hall that culminated in the head nun's office, Maria swallowed, hoping to lose that sense of fear and dread still rising within her.

At the door, Sister Catherine tapped a light fist, and from within came the quiet word, "_Ave._" Twisting the handle, the nun pushed open the door just enough that she could step through. At her desk, the Reverend Mother glanced up from the letter she was writing. "Yes, Sister Catherine?"

"Maria is here to see you, Reverend Mother." Biting her lip, Sister Catherine continued. "With Captain von Trapp."

"Oh?" The old nun's eyebrows rose at the mention of his name, and glancing down to avoid dripping a black line of ink upon her letter, she dropped her pen in its ink well once more. "Please show them in."

"Yes, Reverend Mother." Nodding her head gently, Sister Catherine pushed the door fully open, stepping in quickly to clear the doorway. "This way, please."

Georg beckoned for Maria to enter first, tugging his fingers from hers with a smile. Swallowing the nervousness that rose even swifter than before, Maria went in, almost smiling in spite of herself as the Reverend Mother came into sight, stepping around her desk. How her last few times in this office had progressed!

First receiving her instructions as to her time that would be spent at the Von Trapp villa...explaining her early return...marveling at the Captain's—_Georg_, she reminded herself as she heard his footsteps behind her—sudden desperation for her return...and now she stood in this room to speak to the Reverend Mother about her intention to leave the abbey forever, to take her place instead by Georg's side. Kneeling before the head nun, Maria kissed her hand carefully, rising in time to see Georg do the same, bending to one knee as she smoothed her skirt over her legs.

"It is lovely to see you again, my child," the Reverend Mother said, leaning to kiss the young girl's cheek. Happiness glowed in Maria's eyes, she could see, that same joy from those few weeks ago, but now nakedly worn in her gaze, flaring as her bright eyes came upon the Captain.

By the door, Sister Catherine dropped her face, lifting her feet quietly, certain that whatever words were about to be spoken she had no part in. She had nearly left the room when the Mother Abbess's voice paused her steps. "Sister Catherine."

Turning quietly, the nun bowed her head. "Yes, Reverend Mother?"

"Will you please call Sister Margaretta? I believe there is something I must discuss with her."

"Of course, Reverend Mother." Bowing gently from her waist, Sister Catherine stepped through the door, pulling it closed behind her. If her eyes did not deceive her, as the Mistress of Postulants, Sister Margaretta certainly _would_ have something to discuss, not only with the Reverend Mother, but Maria and Captain von Trapp as well. Smiling to herself, hopeful almost, Sister Catherine tried to remember just what Sister Margaretta's duties were this morning.

* * *

"Now then," the Reverend Mother said as Sister Catherine drew the door closed, "please sit down." The nun gesturing to the pair of chairs that sat before her desk, Maria took her seat, smoothing her skirt as she did, her hands desperate for any sort of motion to conceal her nervousness. Else, she feared her fingers would be tightening in the fabric of her dress, soaking the gentle pleats with her sweat. Georg, though, remained standing. "Please, Captain," the Reverend Mother said, but he shook his head. 

"No, thank you, Reverend Mother," he said, stepping behind Maria; to simply hold his hands back from her shoulders was an effort. "I am fine."

"If that is what you wish..." Yes, there _was_ joy in Maria, and an unaccountable nervousness in the Captain as he paced quietly behind the girl's chair. Breathing for a moment, the Reverend Mother went on. "My child, Captain, what has brought you here this day?"

Maria lifted her face over her shoulder, catching her fiancé's gaze, and wondered if she appeared as fearful as she felt. A gentle smile came over his mouth, quickening her heart so simply. He would speak for her, she knew, but he was waiting for her, wishing and wanting for her to give the words voice herself. Turning to the Reverend Mother again, Maria threaded her fingers together, hoping to defeat her sudden desire to fidget. "I—I will be leaving the novitiate today, Mother."

"Oh?" The Reverend Mother struggled to hold the joy from her voice; seeing Captain von Trapp with Maria, hearing those words...she could see no other reason. "Why?"

"Well...I..." Maria's mouth dried, and her tongue was sandpaper over her cracking lips. Looking to Georg again, she felt helpless even as his hand found a strong grasp on her shoulder.

"What she would like to say, Reverend Mother," Georg began, his second hand dropping to Maria's other shoulder, his fingers rubbing her flesh gently, "is that she has agreed to become a permanent part of my household—as my wife."

The pounding of Maria's heart was painful now, and she feared the muscle would break through her chest as her eyes remained down, unable to look to what was in the Reverend Mother's eyes, afraid of what she would see there. _None of this was meant to happen,_ she thought, almost unhappily as the silence filling the room lengthened. _You were meant to be in the home for a few months..._Even as Georg's hands tightened on her shoulders, she could not dispel that quiet, lingering doubt.

The words she had expected had been spoken, but the Reverend Mother was curious as to the nervousness still to be seen in Maria's face, as though she were afraid. Shaking her head, the old nun smiled. "Then let me congratulate you, my dear," she said, resting her weight against her desk. "And you, too, Captain." As the girl's eyes rose, now that worry was gone, as though her final obstacle had been cast aside. More than anything, Maria sought to follow the will of God; considering her time at the abbey, the Reverend Mother knew that her only difficulty was in _finding_ His will. "I am certain you will be very happy together."

Glancing to Georg another time, Maria could hardly contain the mad grin filling her face, wanting to stand and throw her arms around him, laugh and weep for the joy of it. But that would hardly do; there was time for such things later. "Thank you, Mother," she said instead, rising from her chair, Georg's hands lifting from her body gently. She knelt before the Mother Abbess once more, bringing her lips to the ring on her hand.

"Why do you thank me, child?" the Reverend Mother said as Maria straightened, stepping back to her fiancé. "It is God who has led you together."

"Yes," Georg said, tracing a line along Maria's face, "He has." He might well have forgotten himself in that moment, and drawn her to him, kissing her breathlessly—until he could hardly find the end of himself and the beginning of her, if a quiet hand had not knocked on the door to the Reverend Mother's office.

"Come in," the nun called, and the door opened quietly, just enough for Sister Margaretta to step through.

"You asked to see me?" she said, closing the door in her stead.

"I did," the Reverend Mother said, smiling to herself. "And I am quite pleased that I found that need."

Her eyes narrowing, Sister Margaretta had taken a few steps across the room before she saw Maria, and a smile crossed her mouth as she did. "Maria! It's wonderful to see you again!"

"Yes," Maria said, stepping forward to hug the nun as she came closer. "I'm afraid you won't be seeing very much more of me, though."

"Really?" Sister Margaretta asked, her arms dropping from the embrace. Her gaze drifted to Captain von Trapp, standing beside Maria, the joy on his own face, and the radiance in Maria's eyes. She dearly loved Maria, and would have been overjoyed for her entrance into the order, but at the Captain's side, there was a greater happiness in her. "Why, Maria?"

"Maria is leaving the novitiate, child," the Reverend Mother continued, claiming Sister Margaretta's gaze for a moment, "to marry Captain von Trapp."

The Mistress of Postulants had wrapped Maria in another embrace before the girl could even smile at the words from the Mother Abbess. "Congratulations," Sister Margaretta whispered as she drew back, lifting her arms to permit Maria to stand by her fiancé once more.

"Thank you," Maria said, flushing gently as Georg's fingers twined through hers. "I'm almost sorry to leave, though." Even as the sister shook her head, Maria smiled. "Well, I am. And I am very grateful to you, Sister Margaretta, for every time you ever helped me to stand against Sister Berthe."

In spite of herself, Sister Margaretta smiled. "You might not have been ideal, Maria, but you would have become a devout nun." Reaching to the girl, she squeezed her arm gently. "I think even Sister Berthe knew that. But you must stay for tea," Sister Margaretta said suddenly, turning to the Reverend Mother as though searching for permission, granted in a gentle nod. "I think it shall be the final time you and I will have some time to simply talk."

"Oh, of course," Maria said, glancing to Georg. "Will you join us?"

"No, darling," he said quietly, reaching down to squeeze her hand another time. "There are one or two things I should attend to while we are in town." He drew her hand upwards, pressing the fingers to his mouth in a gentle kiss. "Besides, I think I would prefer to hear all about your antics here from yourself, rather than Sister Margaretta."

His fiancée blushed even as she laughed. "I shall come for you in an hour or two."

"All right," she said. "I really don't think you _would_ be too surprised at what Sister Margaretta has to say about me."

He chuckled as well. "Perhaps not, but I really would prefer to hear it from you." Leaning close to her, he kissed her cheek, wishing that he could offer her much more as a farewell, even for so short a time. Glancing to the two nuns, he bowed his head gently. "Reverend Mother, Sister Margaretta." Smiling once more to Maria, he pulled his hand from hers and crossed the room to the door. Twisting the handle of the door, he turned back to her one final time, but stepped into the hallway swiftly, before there was no going.

Maria sighed to herself, as though a part of her had gone with him, a gentle chill settling in her hand, wanting his touch another time. "You're very lucky, Maria," Sister Margaretta said as Maria's gaze returned, her eyes wistful at even the short time she would spend apart from the man she loved. "He is a good man."

"Yes," Maria said, wanting to never leave him again, "he is." A mad joy filled her, and a broadening smile lit her face, for how could she have ever thought to have _anything_ so wonderful in her life? "God has blessed me far more than I could ever hope."


	50. One Evening Together

**Chapter 50: One Evening Together**

Splashing a handful of cool water across her face, Maria sighed as she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Even her eyes bore her exhaustion of this afternoon. A night of fitful sleep had hardly been enough rest, exacerbated by her late retirement to bed. The night before, for the first the first time since her arrival at the villa, she had not put the children to bed, a task that Liesl had managed for the youngest girls, the others settling themselves in. Through the night, she had woken time and again, never understanding why as her gaze came to the white ceiling of her bedroom, her mind refusing sleep despite the exhaustion playing on her eyelids.

Maria pushed a few short strands of hair over her ears as she patted her face dry. She would simply have to deal with the dullness of her mind and senses the rest of this day. Even in the morning, despite her weariness, she had felt alert as ever, joyously anticipating the trip to the abbey with Georg. She had hardly dared to hope that it should have progressed so well.

Switching off the light in her bathroom, Maria lifted a hand to cover a yawn. Raising her eyes heavenward, she offered a small prayer of blessing for Max, who had mercifully agreed to look after the children during the visit to the abbey as well as the afternoon, permitting Maria time for a short nap. But even as she pulled the door to her bedroom closed, Maria knew that her rest would not be enough.

Walking along the corridor to the pathway that looked over the foyer, she cocked her head at the notes that drifted up to her ears. Georg, certainly, for strong hands found enormous intervals on the piano, rising and falling again just as quickly, turning to slower, minor thirds. Descending the stairs, Maria could not help but quicken her pace as his fingers changed to octaves trailing downwards at a rate she could scarcely believe possible, only to turn to the mournful, minor tone again. It was as though that flowing, majestic melody drew her forward by its volition rather than her own.

Though she had tried to silence the echo of her footsteps as she approached the drawing room, he had heard her as she came near the entrance, and glanced to her, his hands rising from the ivory keys. "Please don't stop," Maria said as she entered the room. "It's lovely."

"It's a bit late for a warning against stopping," Georg said, rising from the piano bench, crossing the room swiftly to take her hands in his. Leaning forward, he kissed her gently.

"Well, then, it _was_ beautiful," Maria said as he drew back. "What was it?"

"_La Grande Porte de Kiev._"

Her eyebrows rose. "I've never heard of it. Who composed it?"

"Mussorgsky," Georg said, guiding her across the room to the sofa, drawing her down beside him. "A Russian who wrote in the latter half of the last century. Talented, but he ruined himself with drink in his middle years. It's the final movement of his work, _Pictures at an Exhibition._"

"Oh," Maria said, letting her head fall against Georg's shoulder, breathing easier as the warmth of his body filled her own. "You play wonderfully."

"I've had years of practice, Maria," he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, pulling her nearer. "If you allow me to teach you, I assure you that you will be able to play such pieces with just as great felicity."

"Perhaps," she said quietly, kissing the hollow of his neck, hardly sensing him shudder as she closed her eyes.

"You're still tired." Running a light finger across her cheek, Georg brushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

"A little," she whispered, the simple effort of opening her eyes too much in that moment.

"Then rest, my love," he said, shifting even closer. "I'll be here until you wake."

"You must have something you have to do," Maria murmured, not hearing her words as her mind drifted nearer to sleep. "Something important."

"That I do," he said as she fell into a light doze, her cheek pressed to his chest. "Being here with you." He trailed his hand across her face. "Nothing is more important to me than you, Maria."

"I love..." she began, but she had entered sleep before the words finished.

* * *

A cloud had drifted across the sun that should have glowed a rosy golden shade within the room, Maria decided as her eyes opened, shielding the room from the final beams of the day. Lifting her head from Georg's chest, she winced at the crack as she straightened; she had not slept in the most comfortable position, but with Georg so near, his arm around her, she felt she might have fallen asleep anywhere. 

"I see you are awake," his voice said lowly as she glanced up to him. "I wondered for how long you would sleep."

"I am sorry," she said, sitting back against the cushion of the sofa. "You shouldn't have spent your entire afternoon—" Her words ceased as one of his fingers pressed against her lips.

"Come now, Fräulein," Georg whispered, resting his forehead against hers, "where else would I rather be than with you?"

"I'm not certain, but you must have meant to do _something_ this afternoon rather than soothe me to sleep." Even as she meant her words, she smiled.

"True, I had planned something, Maria, but I was drawn aside by a more important duty." He brushed her lips with a gentle kiss. "Watching you so at peace."

"I don't think that quite qualifies as more important—but I do appreciate it." She reached for his hand, yearning to feel his palm holding hers, but he had dipped his fingers into his jacket pocket, drawing out a small black box. "Georg?" Oh, why did her voice quiver _now_?

"Speaking of important duties," he said quietly, his dark blue eyes finding hers for a moment, "I accomplished one of them this morning while you were taking tea with...Sister Margaretta, was it?"

"Yes," Maria said, nodding, "but Georg, what—"

"Hush, my love," he whispered, cupping her chin with his hand for a moment. Lifting the lid of the box, a ring of white gold sparkled up to Maria, a single, round diamond in the center surrounded by seven twinkling sapphires.

"Georg," she breathed, all further words catching in her throat, unbelieving tears stinging her eyes. "You didn't need..."

"I know," he said, tugging the ring from the smooth lining of the box as he reached for her left hand. "But I _wanted_ to, my love, to offer only the smallest tangible token of my gratitude for what you have given me. Seven sapphires for our seven children, and a diamond for you, Maria—the light in our lives." Her hand trembling, he slid the band along her thin finger, rubbing her palm gently as he dropped the empty box into his pocket once more.

"And what of yourself?" she asked, leaning against his shoulder once more. "I didn't hear you represented there."

"Only a matter of time, Maria," he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "What was it God has ordained—that a man shall leave his father and mother to be united with his wife, and that they shall become one flesh." He had to smile at the light blush on her cheeks. "As I said, Fräulein, only a matter of time."

"One of the children's previous governesses told Kurt he was incorrigible," Maria said as she nestled even closer to him, "but I think she was wrong."

"Oh. Why?"

"Because that assessment seems to be for you alone!"

His laughter filled her as well as he wrapped both his arms around her, pulling her into his lap. Kissing her fully, he touched her face with a hand that traced her cheek gently. "How could I ever think to live without you?" he whispered as he paused for breath.

"I don't know," she said, pressing her lips to his forehead. "I just ask that you don't, my love."

"No worries about _that_, Maria," he said, laughing again as he kissed her, forgetting everything but the feel of her in his arms and the warmth of her skin, and the quiet beat of her chest against his.

Looping her arms around his neck, Maria rested her head on Georg's chest, drinking in the heat of his body, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breaths against her cheek. Even with just this peaceful, small contact, hardly enough when her mind and heart wanted so much more, everything seemed easier, proper in the quiet... "Where are the children?" she asked, the silence suddenly disconcerting as he tightened his grip around her. His low chuckle drew her gaze upward.

"The children are in bed," he said, laughing without care as her face rose in horror. "My love, I had not the heart to wake you, though I will admit to being surprised at how soundly you slept; I would have thought that your nap this afternoon had sated your exhaustion."

"Really," she said, straightening to sit on his legs even as her hands still clasped one another behind his neck, "you should have woken me. I'm still their governess, and seeing they get to bed is my responsibility."

"Your _responsibility,_ Fräulein?" he asked, a gentle lilt in his voice as he drew her back, brushing her lips with a tender kiss.

"Well, my pleasure, then," she said as she lifted her hand to thread her fingers through his hair.

"Now that I would believe." Reaching up, he captured her hand, bringing it down once more to press to his heart. "They do love you, Maria, as their mother."

"I know," she whispered. "I don't know what I would do without them—or you." Maria blinked swifting, her vision blurring as the mist of tears rose from beneath her eyelids.

"You shouldn't cry, Fräulein," Georg said, brushing the drops from her cheeks. "Not when you have all your life—our life—before you."

"I can still remember that this almost didn't happen," she said, tears spilling onto her face even with the quick fluttering of her eyelids.

"But there is no need, Maria—remember only that it _is._" Slipping his arm firmly about her waist, he pulled her against him once more, kissing her forehead. "Remember that it is, and that it is right and holy."

"I will," Maria said, pressing her lips to his throat. "I love you."

"And I love you, Maria." As he let his other arm drift around her body, tightening his hold on her, his eyebrows rose at a low growl that seemed to emanate from her. "May I ask just what _that_ was, Fräulein?"

Her smile was sheepish as she sat up once again. "My stomach," she said, flushing. "I only had tea with Sister Margaretta for lunch, and apparently I missed dinner."

"Then it seems I shall finally have you to myself for a meal," Georg said. Lessening his grip on her, he smiled at her furrowed brow. "I couldn't leave this sofa for dinner without waking you, Maria—and as I said, I had not the heart to do so. I asked Cook to wait to prepare you a meal when you woke—"

"Oh, really, Georg," she said as she shifted to sit on the sofa itself, "I needn't worry her. I can fix myself something."

"No worry, Fräulein," he said, kissing her nose gently, gratified by her sigh. "You might be satisfied by a second meal of tea and perhaps some toast, but I think I shall require something more substantial." Standing, he offered her his hand. "Besides, I don't think I can let you escape from me so soon this evening."

* * *

The handful of clouds that had flitted across the sky through the course of the afternoon Maria and Georg had neglected had slid to the horizon as twilight had fallen, and now only a clear field of stars sparkled above the couple as they finished the last of their late meal, pushing aside plates littered with the remnants of flat bread and bowls still bearing traces of _Steirisches Wurzelfleish_. A gentle breeze plied its way across the lake towards the veranda, where both sat in the quiet, each simply enjoying the company of the other as they sipped their wine. 

"It really was kind of you to wait to eat with me, Georg," Maria said, lifting her glass of wine. "You really didn't need to."

"There are many things I do not need," he said with a serious voice. "But you, my love, are not among them."

"You do know there will probably be a time when you no longer want to be around me every moment of the day." Taking a sip of her wine, Maria smiled at his expression of feigned surprise. "Eventually."

"Perhaps, but for the time being, I can ignore that possibility." Reaching across the small table for her free hand, Georg stroked her fingers gently. "And you may claim it, but I am doubtful that it shall come to be."

"One can always hope," she said as she set her glass down, covering his hand with her own. "I know that I will."

"And I am glad to hear it," Georg said quietly. He might have leaned across the table to kiss her, but a furtive set of footsteps stilled that thought. His eyes drifted from his fiancée to his housekeeper who stepped onto the veranda, bearing a plate in the hand he could see.

"I see you've finished," Frau Schmidt said, setting her small tray of _crêpes_ on the edge of the table, along with two small dessert plates. "Cook finally finished with these." Sliding them to the center, she gathered the remaining dishes quickly, eager to leave the Captain and his young fiancée alone. She had thought she had heard her own thoughts spoken aloud this morning when the children had been nearly impossible to calm.

That the Captain seemed at peace around Fräulein Maria, that the girl, in turn, was always ill at ease in his presence, as though she were struggling against something, _that_ much Frau Schmidt had easily seen. An infatuation on Maria's part, Frau Schmidt had decided, perhaps something similar in the Captain, but this...The housekeeper resisted her wish to turn back for another glance to veranda at a couple so obviously in love. _Everything has come out for the best,_ she thought, shifting the short stack of dishes in her hands, _even if it was wholly unexpected._

"She really didn't need to go through all this trouble," Maria said, her mouth watering as the sweet scent of the _crêpes_ drifted towards her. "I feel as though I put her through so much effort."

"You needn't think that, darling," Georg said, freeing his hand from its strong grasp about Maria's to reach for one of the rolled pastries. "Would you feel as though Gretl or Marta had caused you difficulty if one of them work you to comfort a nightmare?"

"Of course not," Maria began, and Georg smiled at that.

"Then you shouldn't feel the least bit guilty. Just as your duty was to attend the children, hers is to see that anyone in need of a good meal receives it. Here, my love." He pushed the plate to her, gesturing for her to claim one of the _crêpes_, crowned by a spoonful of whipped cream.

"Thank you," she said, taking one for herself and placing it on her own plate as Georg took a bite of his own. Picking up her fork, she sliced the edge from the pastry, smiling at the red shade that could now be seen in the filling.

"Strawberries," Georg said, his own already half-finished. "Most often, Cook makes them with blueberries, but it's a bit early for them."

"It _is_ good," Maria said as she swallowed her first bite.

"Well, of course," Georg said, feigning an insult as he continued on his own dessert. But Maria smiled at him as she took another bite, and he laughed as he ate the last of his _crêpe_. "Such things I imagine are never seen in the abbey."

"Never," she said in agreement, pausing to sip her wine once more. "Nor is this," she added, raising her glass a final time before settling it on the table top again.

"I doubt that the Reverend Mother would care to have inebriated nuns." Even Maria laughed in spite of herself, smiling broadly as Georg reached for her hand, swiftly twining his fingers with hers. He yearned for her, even though she sat so near to him.

"Then it's very well that the abbey is no longer my future," Maria said, pushing her plate aside, no longer hungry. "I am happy that it is now only my past."

"As am I," Georg murmured. He stood, tugging on her hand for her to rise as well, and as she gained her feet, he drew her in his direction, guiding her around to stand before him. The intoxicating smell of her hair filled his nostrils as she was so close, her easy presence nearly driving him mad.

"The stars are so lovely," Maria whispered, leaning against her fiancé's chest, simply enjoying the gentle pressure of his breaths on her back, not feeling the desire rising so quickly in him.

"_You're_ lovely," Georg said, sliding his hands about her waist to draw her nearer. He kissed the hollow of her neck gently, his mouth smiling against her skin as he felt her shudder in his embrace. "And beautiful."

"You always say so."

"I thought you always appreciated the truth."

"I do, but I would prefer it to be the actual truth, and not the truth simply as you see it." His arms tightened around her waist and she grinned.

"Well, that is what I spoke, my love—the _simple_ truth." His hands drifted to her shoulders, turning her round to face him. "Because you are beautiful." He ever enjoyed the light color that even the smallest of compliments could draw across her face, for no matter what truth there might be in a statement, she always turned to modesty. "My love, never think you are anything but beautiful." He leaned forward to capture her mouth, dropping his hands to her waist to pull her to him.

Maria's arms went around his shoulders, holding as tightly to him as he did to her, and when they drew apart, she smiled gently as she laid her face against his chest. "I love you," she whispered as his hand brushed through her hair. He gave her no answer, for the beat of his heart beneath her body was enough.


	51. Summer Roses

**Chapter 51: Summer Roses**

As she shifted beneath the shade of the tree, pausing to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, Brigitta could not deny that the morning had been pleasant so far. Marta's turn for choosing the day's activity had arrived, and she had decided that she wanted to spend the day, or at least the morning, in the garden, weaving crowns of edelweiss.

Friedrich and Kurt had hardly even tried to conceal their looks of disgust at her declaration, but Fräulein Maria had persuaded Marta to permit her brothers to indulge in a ball game of their own. Brigitta had wondered if Louisa would make a protest as well, but across the grass, it was clear that even the tomboy was enjoying herself, her fingers twisting the blossoms with a deftness Brigitta would never have imagined.

"Here, Fräulein Maria!" Maria said suddenly, pushing herself to her feet from beside Liesl, sitting beneath another tree. She ran to her governess, who had glanced up from helping Gretl twine the the blooms of edelweiss together with her tiny fingers. Nearing Maria, Marta set the crown of edelweiss on her governess's head, slightly askew as she paused to admire her handcraft.

"What is this for?" Maria asked, laughing as she reached up to straighten the flowers perched on her hair.

"Because it looks pretty on you," Marta said, already returning to sit by Liesl. Lifting another handful of the delicate flowers from the pile between herself and her oldest sister, she glanced up. "Fräulein Maria?"

"Yes, darling?" Maria asked. Her own chain of edelweiss lay forgotten in her lap, as most of her attention had been focused on Gretl.

"When you and Father get married, what flowers will you have?"

"I don't know," Maria said, not certain what to make of the question. She had hardly even considered the reality of what her wedding would entail let alone such a small detail as the flowers in her bouquet. "Why?"

"Could they be edelweiss?" The child's eyes sparkled with a sudden hope.

"I suppose so," she said, turning to Gretl for a moment, taking the girl's small hands and guiding her fingers gently.

"Good, because Father loves edelweiss," Gretl said, impatiently tugging her hands from Maria's grasp to hold her wreath up gently. "As much as he loves you, Fräulein Maria."

"Not _that_ much, Gretl," Liesl said as she set the crown she had just finished atop Marta's dark braids. "But they are beautiful flowers."

"They are," Maria said, brushing Gretl's hair from her face. "I don't think Austria has anything more beautiful to offer."

"Are you _still_ talking about flowers?" Friedrich asked, jogging behind the ball that had gone sailing over his head a moment before.

"Yes," Marta said. She reached for one of the tiny flowers beside her and tossed it toward him, though it plummeted to the grass after only a meter or so of flight.

Maria thought she heard the boy mutter "Girls" under his breath as he stooped to collect the rubber ball. She smiled to herself, letting her arm drape over Gretl's shoulder to hold the girl to her. The traces of the cold she had seen two days before had vanished, and none of the other children had demonstrated any signs of having caught it. _That in itself is something to be thankful for,_ she thought.

Beneath her own tree, Louisa stretched her arms, clamoring to her feet as she yawned quietly. "Where are you going?" asked Brigitta, one of her eyebrows rising.

"Friedrich and Kurt need someone to make them work," Louisa said, settling her small crown of edelweiss on her blond hair. Smiling to Marta, she ran to join her brothers. The girl was growing up, Maria could see, even in the short span of time she had known her. But a few weeks ago, Louisa would have complained beyond all measure at the thought of spending a bright summer morning twisting flowers rather than playing a game or searching for a spider or frog near the lake. _She'll be a young lady soon,_ Maria thought, lifting her arm as Gretl struggled to free herself. _And neither her father nor her siblings will know what to make of her._

"What's so funny?" asked Brigitta, setting her flowers aside as she leaned heavily against the tree behind her.

"Nothing," Maria said as she folded her legs carefully on the grass. She had not known that her face had broadened into the smile that she now felt. The pleasure she felt in the thought of Louisa's growth had never seemed so right. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Nothing in particular." It was not truly a lie, not really. Those thoughts were only for herself, perhaps Louisa and Georg, but certainly not the girl's brothers and sisters. But Brigitta only wrinkled her nose as she let her eyelids close for a moment, enjoying the warmth of the morning on her face.

They worked in a companionable silence, broken only by the shouts of the boys and Louisa tossing their ball from one to another. As she let herself gaze across the short distance to her _fräulein_, Brigitta smiled to herself. The memories she could find of her mother were faded, transformed only to a vague remembrance: a gentle hand that brushed her hair and braided the dark tresses, a face that only ever smiled, and a voice like an angel's, mixed with the strong melody her father produced on the piano in the drawing room.

But from the moment she had met Fräulein Maria—well, ever since the thunderstorm, she amended—everything she would have sought from her mother Brigitta had sought from her governess. Love, companionship, confidence, understanding...Fräulein Maria seemed to offer everything without a thought, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. If she had to decide, she would think that her mother would like Fräulein Maria, that she would pleased that everyone of them was eager to call her 'Mother.'

"Now I think we should ask just what _you_ are thinking about," Maria said, and Brigitta's smile widened.

"Nothing in particular," Brigitta said, echoing her governess's words, and everyone laughed a bit, even Maria.

"I suppose I deserved that," she said, leaning back to rest her weight on her hands.

"Yes." The ten year-old had to glance down for a moment, for she _had_ sensed her eyes light at the figure that approached their small group. Nothing brought greater joy to her than to see her father and governess together, as she was certain Liesl, Friedrich, and perhaps even Louisa had felt to see their mother with him.

"I thought I might find you here," a deep voice said, and Maria felt her heart quicken as she turned to the welcome sight of her fiancé. An easy smile was on her face as he came closer.

"Good morning, Father," the girls chorused, looking up from their work, not bothering to hide their smiles as he settled himself on the grass beside their governess.

"I expected I would not see the boys, but where is Louisa?" asked Georg, slipping his arm around Maria's shoulder.

"She claimed she needed to challenge them in their game," Maria said, leaning against his chest. "Playing with flowers could only hold her attention so long. But what have you done this morning? We've told you everything _we_ have done."

"Oh, I simply had to extricate myself from another of Max's desperate plans to turn our children into his next musical act."

Every one of the girls' eyes lit at the idea. "Please, Father," Brigitta began, but Georg shook his head firmly, and she sighed as she reached for her chain of edelweiss.

"I've already told you, Brigitta—the answer is no." Brushing his fingers across the back of Maria's neck, he smiled, not certain whether from his daughter's wistfulness or the shiver he sensed in his fiancée. "But I'm afraid I'm going to try to steal your governess from you for a bit."

"That's all right, Father," Liesl said, though Maria's smile had dipped to a bit of a frown. "Go on, Fräulein."

Georg pushed himself to his feet and reached his hand down to Maria who, in spite of herself, took his offered grasp, her half-finished chain of flowers falling from her lap. Gretl worked her way to her feet as well, running to join Brigitta. "Come, my love," Georg said quietly, twisting his fingers tightly through Maria's. Ambling away from the children, he smiled as she walked closer to him. "It is a pity to pull you away from the children—they do enjoy your company immensely."

"But you already knew that," Maria said, not protesting as he withdrew his hand from hers, allowing it to travel about her waist to bring her nearer to him. Before them, the sun gleamed on the glass of the gazebo even as the shadows of the trees surrounding it cast their lines across its iron framework.

"Yes, I did," Georg said, laughing quietly as they stepped into the small structure. "I would say, almost as much as _I_ enjoy it."

"I don't think it's right that you should compare yourself to your children." Her smile broadened as his second hand came to meet his first, pressing her closer to him.

"Ah, well." He kissed her forehead gently, and as he drew back, he smiled at the ring of edelweiss atop her head. "It's a shame that such beautiful flowers must be plucked for this"—he traced the small crown atop his fiancée's head, threading his fingers through her short hair—"but you do look lovely in edelweiss."

"Somehow, I think the children were expecting you to say that," Maria said, glancing over her shoulder towards the girls, still scattered beneath the trees of the garden, every gaze conspicuously turned from the gazebo.

"Well, they've only known me for how many years?" he asked, his hand trailing down her cheek.

"Just a few." He pinched her skin gently and she smiled.

"If that's the only admission I can get from you, I suppose I shall have to be satisfied with that," he said, his hand slipping to her shoulder, then to her back to draw her near to him.

"Perhaps," she said, stretching up to kiss him. "Gretl seems to think that you love edelweiss just as much as you love me."

"That _would_ be rather difficult," he said, running a finger along her cheekbone, "as the only ones that can claim to have as much love from me as yourself are our children. But I won't dismiss her claim that I do love edelweiss."

"Marta wanted to know if my bouquet would be of edelweiss," Maria said, leaning into his touch.

"Well, that would be a lovely bouquet," Georg said, "though I doubt I would have much time to look at it—or the interest." He turned her face up. "I know where my attention shall be that entire day, my love." Her skin colored as his fingers tightened around her chin, drawing her to him, pressing her mouth to his with a sudden urgency, needing to feel her against him. She tried to back away for a moment, but his second hand came to the small of her back, holding her closer. Even the knowledge of the children so close could not sate his desire; he felt almost desperate for her, needing more than he now had a right to ask of her, more than he could even contemplate requesting of her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he pulled from her, wincing as he noticed her downcast eyes. "Please forgive me, Maria."

"It's nothing," she said, the blush not leaving her face. For herself, she could not believe that she had allowed that to progress so far...but she had wished for more, so much she felt only relief that her face did not glow an even darker shade.

"No, my love, that was entirely wrong of me—I only ask that you forgive me."

"If you insist." She smiled, and even the regret in his mind lessened at her simple gesture. "But remember that I kissed you back." And she did so again, reaching up to plant a feathery kiss on his lips, her eyes shining as drew away.

"And I thank you that you did." Sighing, Georg let his hand run along her jaw line in a gentle caress. "I don't know what I would ever do without you, my love. But, here," he said lowly, reaching into his pocket once more. "For your edelweiss crown."

"What?" Maria's eyes narrowed as his fingers emerged gently clutching a handful of rose blossoms, simply the petals and the smallest piece of stem. "Georg..."

"I had a glimpse of you and the girls before I found you in the garden, so I plucked these from the first rose bush I could find—because you would be just as lovely in roses as edelweiss." Dropping his hand from her back, Georg set one of the blossoms atop her head, threading the barest bit of stem that remained through her hair. "Or anything else, for that matter, my love." Taking another, he slipped it into her hair across from the first; with the light touch of red by the white of the edelweiss, she was all the more lovely. Placing another behind her ear, he pressed his palm to her cheek. "And it was a pity I could find no blossom in blue, for you are more than beautiful in that color."

"Then shall I have my wedding dress be blue, darling?" Maria asked, smiling at his raised eyebrows. "Or shall I merely mix that shade in with the edeweiss and roses that it seems my bouquet will be made of?"

"I think blue in your bouquet shall be enough." Raising his hand, he tucked the final rose just before the first he had set into her hair. "Your dress should be of concern only to you, Maria—my eyes will be for simply _you_, regardless of how lovely your gown is."

Her face flushed, and he managed to keep his chuckle gentle. "But, my love, that does seem to bring me to the reason I have stolen you from our children. Or, I suppose I should simply say it is the reason I have _justified_ taking you from them."

"If you must have a reason, then why?"

"To ask you a question." Taking her hand, he guided her to one of the benches around the edge of the gazebo, sitting close beside her. "I, at least, would rather have this decision be yours."

"What decision?" Maria asked, tightening her hand on his.

"Where to go on our honeymoon, my love."

"Oh." Georg smiled at the confusion on her face. Maria had hardly given a thought to anything beyond the fact that the wedding would occur; everything that accompanied it, the reception, the details, had not as yet crossed her mind. As for the honeymoon...she had yet to even consider it, let alone what it would entail.

"It just occurred to me that we had yet to discuss it—though I shalln't deny that it has been on my mind." He chuckled at her flush, the smile he thought he could see just behind her lips. "You needn't give me an answer now, darling," he said, pressing a kiss gently to her forehead. "But I would like you to think about it."

"I will," Maria said, smiling as his eyes came to hers. Glancing over her fiancé's shoulder she laughed to herself. "But I think that it was time we went back to the children."

"Oh?" He followed her gaze and smiled as well. Louisa and her brothers had at last brought the remaining girls into their game, now transformed from a simple game of catch to an attempt to keep the ball from touching the grass as it was heaved in the air. Just now, Brigitta slipped in the grass as she tried to run beneath the ball, rubbing her elbow as she scrambled to her feet again. "Perhaps—to make sure that there are no accidents?"

"Something like that." She reached for his hand, carefully twining her fingers with his—no thoughts of preventing the children from injuring themselves were in her eyes. "Come along, Captain—let's see just how much of a challenge you can put to your children."


	52. Family Troubles

**Chapter 52: Family Troubles  
**

Though the Von Trapp family had already sat down for dinner, that did not prevent the doorbell from ringing as the _Wiener Schnitzel_ was served. Georg sighed as he reached for his wine, that chime a sudden reminder of the previous time the evening meal had been disturbed: a telegram with an invitation that would take him from the woman he came to love.

As he took a sip of the dark wine, he glanced to Maria, who now sat at his side, and smiled gently. But he was here now, beside her as he would be until they were parted only by death. _Just never make the mistake of leaving her again,_ he thought, settling his wine glass on the table once more, reaching to cover her hand with his.

"Captain," Franz said, coming to the edge of the table, a white envelope in his hand, "this letter just arrived by courier."

Her gaze shifting to Liesl, Maria saw the same excitement that had come over the girl her first evening as the governess, a hope that—Rolfe, was it?—Rolfe had just made a delivery to the home. Liesl's smile had grown broader even in those few moments, and she turned to her father and governess, ready to ask to be excused, but carefully, Maria shook her head. The happiness waned, and the girl glanced through the window, wistful almost, but returned to her dinner.

"Thank you," Georg said, nodding to his butler as he took the letter, turning it over in his hand. Slipping a finger beneath the edge of the envelope's flap, he slit the top open, and as he pressed the edges of the white paper inwards, he drew the letter out. The penmanship was one he immediately recognized, though he had not seen it for years. It did nothing for his already darkening mood.

"Fräulein Maria?" Gretl asked from the far end of the table, glancing up from the dinner Maria had already cut for her.

"Yes, darling?" She had taken a moment to appraise her fiancé's face as he read the beginning of the letter, and she could not understand the expression on his face—an anger, an offense.

"When will you get your wedding dress?"

"You all seem so interested in the wedding details," Maria said, laughing lightly as she set her silverware to either side of her plate, clasping her hands together and resting her chin on her twined fingers. The look worn on Georg's visage unnerved her, for it was an rage she had not seen in him since they had argued that fateful afternoon. "More than either your father or I am!"

"Well, you'll have to be interested soon enough," Liesl said, eager to divert her thoughts from Rolfe, who might very well have been standing outside hoping to see her. "_We_ can't plan the entire thing for you."

"I suppose not." Reaching for Georg's hand, Maria squeezed his fingers gently. "Don't you agree, darling?" No answer came, either to her question or the touch of her hand, and she was surprised to see the anger growing on his face. "Georg?" A coldness was quickly following that rage. "Georg?"

His hand trembled beneath hers, and he drew away from her touch with a ferocity that she had never seen in him; the anger so visible, almost searing in his eyes, silenced a quiet argument at the end of the table as Gretl and Brigitta bickered about what color they wished their dresses for the wedding to be, and Maria thought she saw Gretl quiver.

Georg's chair scraped on the wooden floor, pulling all of his children's eyes to him confused and wondering. "Father?" Louisa asked, recognized a small bit of herself in the cold glint of his gaze.

"Georg?" Maria said again, reaching for his hand once more, threading her fingers in his, "what's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said flatly, tightening his grasp thoughtlessly, rather as he had whenever Elsa had tried to claim his attention. He couldn't ask her to be a part of _this_, not when it would only hurt her more than it did him. Tugging his hand free, Georg tossed his napkin from his lap onto the table, then stood, still clutching that blasted letter, as though he could wring out the blood that had written it. The fine stationary crunched between his fingers, the only possible satisfaction he could take in this bloody missive. "If you'll excuse me," he said and, not waiting for any answer, not even from Maria, he stepped out of the room. Even this short distance from every person he loved...everything seemed easier. He could not explain this to Maria, to his children—ask them to understand. To block them out of this...yes, that would be simplest.

_How could he?_ Georg asked himself, crossing the foyer to his study. _How many years of silence—and _now_ he chooses to speak of his damnable pride?_ Gaining his study, Georg glanced to the letter now crumpled in his fist. Pride ran as strongly as stubbornness in his bloodline, almost to the entire loss of his children, he knew—but _this_? This was more than he could bear.

Gazing about his study, at the books lining the shelves, their organization still precise, the small leather files filled with of years of letters, the scrapbooks of newspaper clippings, the collection of tiny brass instruments, he sighed. In the years past, this room had been his escape, that single area of the villa where he was not to be disturbed...and now it was a brief respite from the rage that would have so simply boiled over. Behind his desk within one of the many picture frames that lined his bookshelf, Georg could find _his_ face with ease. "Bastard," he whispered, wondering very much if it was proper to so hate his kin.

* * *

Twisting in her chair, Maria tried to hold sight of her fiancé as he left the dining room. Never since her return to the villa had he so locked her away from what troubled him, tried to hold some stinging pain within himself. "Fräulein?" Liesl's quiet voice asked. "What's wrong?" 

"I don't know, Liesl," Maria said, leaning backwards, almost lifting the front legs of her chairs from the floor. Whatever it was, though, she would not allow him to hold her at arm's length, to do to her what he had done for so many years to his children. Whatever it meant to her, she did not care, but she would not permit him to carry the burden of that sudden sadness alone. If he had not allowed her to hold her private memories, then neither would he have such private hurts.

Dropping her own napkin beside her plate, Maria stood from her chair as well, wishing she might say something more comforting to the seven pairs of eyes that fixed upon her, filled with unspoken questions. "Continue with your dinner, children." She slipped her chair beneath the table once more, her hands smoothing a wrinkle from her simple green frock, desperate for some activity. "I'll be back in a few moments."

She tried to mute her steps on the polished floor as she crossed the wide foyer towards Georg's study. Anymore, anger filled him neither so quickly nor so easily. "What is Father so upset about?" One of the children's voices filtered from the dining room, though she could not be certain which; perhaps Louisa or Brigitta, Maria decided. A girl, at least.

Maria saw him before he even heard her, and a whispered curse floated to her ears. Something weighed on him, that much she could see easily, and read in his mien, his angered stature. "Georg," she said quietly, and his face snapped to her.

"My love," he whispered, his gaze distant, the anger she had seen in the dining room still so easily visible from across the room, now tinged by regret. "Forgive me."

"Please, Georg," she said, coming closer, "please don't shut me out. Don't try to do it again." He breathed deeply the nearer she was. Did she know how she eased that anguish simply by her presence? No, he decided, for everything wonderful about herself she had never noticed. How could he have ever _thought_ to endure this without her? "Please, Georg."

"This isn't yours to bear, Maria." Reaching for her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips gently, enjoying her simply being. Everything about her—the wisdom that mixed with naïvete, the humbleness, the joy in life—was wonderful. But to ask her to share in this—no, that was too much, no matter what her strength.

"Georg, if we're to be married, then we're to share everything—the good with the bad." Stepping closer, pressing herself to his chest, Maria sighed. "Please, Georg."

Kissing the top of her head, still bearing its edelweiss wreath and roses, Georg let his hand travel down to hold her about her waist. He could deny her nothing, and despite his misgivings, he offered the crumpled missive to her. "If you wish."

Maria did not understand why her fingers trembled as she took the scrunched paper, smoothing it between her palms. That it had so angered Georg...She shook her head gently. The handwriting that emerged from the mass of paper was precise, but seemed hurried, nearly angry. Sparing one final look to her fiancé, to his suddenly worn, weary face, one that bore an unexpected sadness, she read the letter swiftly.

_Georg von Trapp,  
what in God's name are you thinking? When your mother my sister died almost twenty years ago, this was not the future she had planned for you! Neither did your father, God rest his soul, in all his life imagine that his eldest son would one day marry his penniless governess. Perhaps they feared to lose you in the Great War, Georg, but never in such a foolish escapade!_

_I shall, at this moment in time, take comfort in the idea that this is not done out of any wayward affection, but out of a perceived necessity. Georg, there are other ways—it would be a cost you could easily manage to have this problem eliminated. Most doctors keep such things hushed up._

_Georg, consider your standing. You were a captain in the Austro-Hungarian Navy—you are a baron. You are not a man meant to marry the governess of his children! If this is not enough to bring you to your senses, my nephew, consider practicalities. You are forty-five years of age, and she is perhaps twenty-five. Has she even gained that many years? I will confess that I have my doubts._

_I am in Salzburg for the time being, a week perhaps. I shall look forward to speaking with you on this foolish business sometime within this period, as well as seeing your children. I ask your response to be both prompt and rational._

_Your uncle,  
Peter Möhrke_

Georg's anger no longer surprised her, but Maria did not expect the tears that filled her eyes. _He does not even know me,_ she thought, _yet he thinks that I would do such a thing? That Georg would do such a thing?_ "He would actually believe that?" she whispered, the wrinkled letter falling from her hand to Georg's desk. "That the only reason you would marry me..."

"I'm sorry," Georg murmured into her hair, rubbing his hand along her back, feeling her shuddering breaths beneath the cloth of her dress. "All my family has a reputation for being proud—myself not excepted, I suppose." She laughed lightly at that, and he joined her with a smile, brushing the tiny trails of her tears aside. It was all he could do, try to ease her pain at such an insult.

"But still," she said, drawing back to peer up at him, "he is your uncle. He should be pleased for you."

"My mother's brother," Georg said, leaning his weight against his desk, gathering her to him. To spell out their relationship distanced the two of them, but to name him an _uncle_ was to draw near to him. "A man around whom I spent very little time even as a child, and none as an adult."

"But he still feels it is his place to meddle in your affairs?" Maria's voice was incredulous, and her fingers traced the lining of his lapel listlessly. "I don't understand, Georg."

"He believes it his duty to prevent _dishonor_ from coming to his family," Georg said, almost sneering. That this man—his uncle, if he was forced to assign that term to the pathetic man—felt it his place to interfere with the Von Trapp family...He sighed, tightening his arm around the woman he loved, placing a gentle kiss on her neck. She was all that he would ever need, he knew, feeling her warm body in her embrace, her fingers clutching his jacket, and her quiet shivers.

"He would truly believe that about me?" Maria asked, the pain evident in her voice. "And you, that you would only marry me because you _needed_ to?"

"As I said, Maria, he is proud. Love is of little consequence to him, and he would rather have a marriage made for position than affection." Glancing over his shoulder to the wrinkled letter, he breathed deeper. "That I might love you for yourself—for your heart and mind and spirit—rather than for something so merely physical...I don't think he could ever understand that."

Her pulse was slowing, he could feel, her anger at the false accusation against her receding. Righteous anger it had been, but this lovely woman never remained angry for long. "But never doubt, Maria, that I love you for all that you are."

"I won't," she whispered, running her finger along the collar of his shirt. "I think I know you too well for that."

"I would hope so." He kissed her cheek, and the shudder he felt along her arms drew a smile on his face. "Still, I would rather that these rumors will someday be true." Her eyes narrowed, and his grin only grew broader as he lifted his hand to trace the circumfrence of the edelweiss atop her head. "But in the days after our wedding, Maria—I would rather enjoy seeing you replace this with ivy on that day."

"You _want_ more children?" Maria asked, resting her head against his shoulder. So close to him, even the rumbling of her stomach was difficult to remember. To have a child of her own was a dream she had never thought possible.

"Well, it's hardly my decision, love" Georg said, laughing gently. "But should there be any more, I think I will be delighted." No, it was more, he decided, feeling utterly calm with his arm around the shoulder of the woman who had stolen his heart. "I _know_ I will be delighted."

"Still, it is something to consider." Maria straightened, letting her weight rest more on the desk than on him. "With seven children already..."

"No matter what, Maria, it is always wonderful," he said, taking her hand in his, rubbing his fingers along her palm. "Always—seeing a new life, a new creation observing a world filled with curiosities." He chuckled again, raising his free hand to her cheek, brushing her skin lightly. "And watching that child discover his or her talents."

"And just what do you mean by _that_, Captain?" Maria asked, smiling beneath his touch.

"No child of yours would be anything but wonderfully talented," he whispered, leaning close to kiss her lips. "I refuse to believe that your children would not inherit your beautiful voice—the voice of an angel."

"Don't forget yourself, Georg," Maria said as she drew back from him. "You always seem to forget that you have abilities as well."

"Forgive me if I believe they are quite dwarfed by yours." Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, but she smiled. No matter what her pain, he could ease it with hardly an effort, it seemed. Standing from his desk, Georg offered his arm to her, and she took it swiftly, threading her own around the crook of his elbow. "Well, Fräulein, shall we return to the children?"

"Before they forget about us?" Maria asked as they passed over the threshold of the study.

"Something like that." Weaving his fingers in hers, Georg smiled as their footsteps echoed in the foyer. _All I will ever need,_ he thought, _all that I will ever want is in this house at this moment, sitting at this table._ Entering the dining room, he turned his eyes upward, a silent prayer of thanks rising from his heart to the heavens as the eyes of the children came over them, questioning, but simply pleased to see them once more. Settling himself into his seat once more, he reached over to clutch Maria's hand before beginning dinner again. _The Lord certainly knows better than you do._


	53. Designs and Whispers

**Chapter 53: Designs and Whispers  
**

"What is going to happen today, Fräulein Maria?" Gretl asked, swinging her hand happily in her governess's. The four girls were all excited and almost as nervous as Maria, and had hardly been able to be calmed that morning when she had told them that in the afternoon, she would be going to the dressmaker for the first appointment about their dresses for the wedding, including her own. Liesl and Brigitta had been more than eager to join her in the dress shop, and Marta and Gretl were simply overjoyed to do anything related to the wedding.

Louisa, though, had been less enthusiastic, her now less often seen scowl emerging once more at the thought of a warm summer afternoon spent in a store pouring over designs and swatches of fabric. In the end, the thirteen year-old had elected to remain home with her father and brothers; when the five had departed, Maria had caught a glimpse of Georg, the boys, and Louisa beginning a card game on the veranda, and despite the interest that had been apparent in each of the participants, she expected it would only be a matter of time until the card game gave way to a sport of some sort.

"Well," Maria said, tightening her grip on the child's fingers, "I expect that Fräulein Cohorst will have a design to show us—several, actually, for my dress and for yours." The other girls grinned as they turned onto the next street. The youngest girl had asked time and again on the bus ride into town just what would be done that afternoon, and time and again Maria had given the same answer.

"But I want to see _yours_, Fräulein," Gretl said, her eyes widening as she looked up to Maria. "When will we get to see your dress?"

"Not for a while," Brigitta said, turning over her shoulder to look at her youngest sister, trailing behind with their governess. "It will probably be some time until it even gets made."

"But _why_?"

"This isn't like the dress we bought Fräulein Maria for the party," Liesl said, holding Marta nearer to her as they waited for the others to catch up to them. She wondered for a moment if she saw a gentle blush on Maria's cheeks. "This will be made just for her, like yours will be made only for you."

"Oh," Gretl said, nodding as she and Maria came to the rest of her siblings. Brigitta rolled her eyes as she threw her a handful of hair over her shoulder; even when she did not understand, Gretl always pretended that she did, though no one believed her. The little girl's eyes narrowed as the confusion overtook her. "Why not?"

"You wouldn't want Fräulein Maria to be married in just _any_ dress, would you Gretl?" Liesl asked, smoothing Marta's hair beneath her hand.

"No," Gretl began, "but—"

"Then that's why you can't see Fräulein Maria's dress yet," Brigitta said, tossing her hair aside again; on summer days like this, she regretted the length of her hair. "It hasn't been made."

"You shall all see it soon enough," Maria said, laughing gently as she and Gretl reached the rest of the girls. "And I am certain that I shall eventually be entirely sick of it."

"I doubt _that_, Fräulein," Liesl said, glancing either way before she stepped into the street, holding Marta closer than ever. "I am sure you will look beautiful—and that Father will think so, too."

Gaining the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, Maria could not help the blood that rushed to her face; she had never believed herself to truly be attractive, but that Georg saw her so..."Well, here we are," Maria said quickly, glancing a second time at the address above the shop door. She was certain that it matched the one written on the slip of paper Frau Schmidt had given her that morning. Yet she could not help but be a bit anxious as she drew the door open, beckoning for the girls to step into the store first, gaining the entrance herself only after Gretl, and almost wishing that the door did not blot out the summer sun.

"May I help you?" a young woman asked, looking up from a chair behind a small table, her eyes sparkling beneath a cloud of dark hair.

"Yes," Maria said, pushing her nerves aside as she stepped forward with Gretl, "my name is Maria Rainer..."

* * *

"Can you imagine it?" the elder woman said, sipping her tea at the round table just outside the café. "A postulant and Captain von Trapp?" 

"Love is a fickle thing," her companion said, a younger woman perhaps in her thirties.

"My dear, don't tell me you truly believe this match to be made for love?" Her graying eyebrows rose as she settled her tea cup on its saucer. "I would have that Elsa Schräder's social position would have been enough for the Captain. It seems, though, that there are appetites in even the most honorable of men that only youth and beauty can satisfy."

"Really," the younger woman said, taking a sip from her own cup, "I can't believe you just said that. If anything, the person Captain von Trapp marries is his business rather than ours."

"Perhaps, but that will not quiet _my_ doubts about this match. I do wonder, though, if she will at least have the decency to not wear an ivy wreath."

"You do think the worst of people."

"I am simply being realistic, my dear. I can think of no reason for the Captain to be marrying her except that she is with child." Raising a hand to shield her face from an unexpected ray of sun, she squinted at her companion. "Perhaps that is simply one more thing he knew Elsa Schräder would never give him."

* * *

"That should be all for now," Fräulein Cohorst said, closing the thick leather notebook before her on the table. "If you'll set another appointment for sometime next week, Fräulein, I shall have all the designs finished and will be ready for all of your measurements." 

"Oh, of course," Maria said, rubbing her temple. After two and a half hours of looking over the different cuts for Liesl's bridesmaid dress, Marta and Gretl's flower girl dresses, and those that Louisa and Brigitta would wear as they stood beside the boys, her head had begun to spin. Her wedding dress, though, had been the simplest of them all, for neither she nor Fräulein Cohorst wished the gown to be elaborate. Indeed, after a rough sketch of the gown had been set to paper, all Maria had found herself confronted with was choosing a fabric. She only wished that the girls' dresses had been so quick.

"Liesl," she said, turning to the girl as she stood and pushed her chair beneath the table, "why don't you take them outside." She nodded to the rest of the children; Marta and Gretl seemed hardly able to keep still any longer. Both were fidgeting, switching their weight from one foot to the other, turning their faces in every direction, though they had long ago seen everything the dress shop had to be seen. "I think you've been cooped up in here long enough."

"All right," Liesl said, offering a hand to both Marta and Gretl. Brigitta skipped ahead of the group to hold the door open, and even the eldest could not deny that, after the time spent in the dark store, the easy scent of the summer air was welcome as they emerged onto the street.

"When will we get to see the dresses?" Gretl asked, pulling on her sister's hand as she always did when she wished for attention.

"When they've been made, silly," Brigitta said, leaning against the storefront as she let the door fall closed. "Not for a while yet."

"But I want to see them _now_," Gretl said, stamping her foot.

"Well, you can't," Liesl said, letting Marta's hand fall from her grasp, leaning down to brush Gretl's wild hair from her face. "You did see the design, though, so you know something about the way you will look."

"The fabrics were all pretty," Marta said, spinning around and letting her skirt flare out. Stumbling as she regained her solid footing, she grinned even as Brigitta rolled her eyes. "Will they look so pretty on us, Liesl?"

"Of course," the eldest began, but she stopped as she heard her governess's low laughter as the door to the dressmaker's shop closed behind her.

"Don't worry, Marta," Maria said, her eyes burning in the brightness of the afternoon, "I'm sure you will look ever so lovely in your dress, and I'm certain you will think so next Thursday."

"What happens on Thursday?" the seven year-old asked, reaching for Maria's hand.

"That's the day of our appointment to have all our measurements taken." Beginning to walk along the street, the rest of the girls following, Maria smiled. "I think we'll have only one difficulty, though."

"What's that, Fräulein?" asked Liesl, tugging on Gretl's arm for her to move quicker.

"Finding a way to trick Louisa into coming."

Brigitta bit down her laughter as Liesl just smiled, the younger girls' faces simply filling with confusion. That Louisa had little love of dresses and ribbons, they knew, but why would there be any difficulty in getting her to the fitting for her dress?

"Come along," Maria said, swinging Marta's hand, to the girl's delighted giggle. "Your father shall soon be worried where we've wandered off to." Turning the corner to the next street, Maria inhaled deeply the warm scent of coffee, the sweet smell of tea, and the aroma of fresh bread that drifted from the café they passed. "I'm sure you're all looking forward to dinner by now."

"Don't you mean that _you_ are, Fräulein?" Liesl asked, tugging on Gretl's hand to bring her along the street, drawing the child's gaze from a sweet shop. "Or is it another reason entirely?"

Glancing over her shoulder to the girl— No, Maria decided to the _young woman_ who would soon be her eldest daughter, she smiled. "Your father didn't believe me when I told him you were no longer a child, Liesl. But I think you've proved him wrong, in many different ways."

As the girls gathered about her, not feeling the heat of the late afternoon as they stood waiting for the bus, Maria could do nothing to hold down the pride filling her so suddenly. These children loved her as much as they had loved their own mother, and Georg believed she would be nothing but a good mother to them. Settling her free hand on Marta's shoulder, Maria held the child closer; she had never felt so honored or trusted in her life.

* * *

"Wine, please." 

"Yes, sir." The waiter nodded his head gently before turning on his heel to retrieve a copy of the wine list, and the gray-haired man settled farther back in his chair, tapping his fingers along the edge of the table. Though his letter had been delivered by courier nearly four days previous, his nephew had made no reply. He sighed as the door of the restaurant opened and closed again, a waft of warm July air and the sounds of the city filtering in.

There was nothing else for it he decided as the waiter returned, proffering the restaurant's list of available wines. If the man would not make a response with courtesy, he would simply go to him.

"Sir?" the waiter asked, raising an eyebrow as his customer sat still, resting his chin on one hand, hardly seeming to see the list in the other. "Sir?"

"Oh," the older man said, shaking his head as he leaned forward, reaching to the inside pocket of his coat for his spectacles. Dropping the list to the table for a moment, he unfolded his spectacles and set them on his nose, then slid the page to the table's edge to examine it. _Yes,_ he thought, requesting a glass of red wine and handing the list to the waiter once more, _tomorrow will serve well enough._


	54. Louisa

**Chapter 54: Louisa**

Brushing the last strands of her blond hair into its braid, Louisa tied the end with the band she had removed only a few moments before. Her legs dangled from the thick branch on which she sat as they always had, especially when she was but a little girl. Her mother had hated when she would climb this tree.

"Louie," she had said, settling her hands on her hips even as she smiled while her daughter wrinkled her nose at the name, "one day you'll find you can't get back down. We'll have to leave you up there, child." Her blue eyes had sparkled then as her daughter scrambled to the trunk of the tree, finding that same footing that had taken her up, running to her mother as her feet hit the ground. And then, her mother's arms had been around her, and she had kissed her daughter's hair before she offered her hand to the girl who so resembled her father.

Leaning into the tree's strong trunk, Louisa turned her face up, squinting at the bright light. At times like these, she missed her mother—missed the mild scoldings, the gentle reminders, the quiet frustration, and the unending love she had known her mother had offered her tomboy of a daughter. Liesl and even Brigitta had passed so many of their days with her, but Louisa had elected to stay with her father whenever she could. The moment their mother had died, though, everything had changed—everything.

Her father, so loving and warm, so gentle and caring, had vanished, and in his place, there had been that sea captain, a man whose eyes were cold, voice was harsh, and heart was unreachable. Even these days, when that man existed only in her memories, those years and that man still haunted her. She could speak to her father and see only that deadened gaze, hear simply that flat, empty voice—

"Louisa?"

The girl sat straight on her branch at the voice, her hands clasping the bark, hardly feeling the gentle scratches of the rough surface. Turning her gaze down, she was surprised to see Fräulein Maria. _How did she know where to find me?_ Louisa asked herself, smoothing her skirt and not seeing the trail of dirt left along the fabric. _Only Mother and Father..._

"Everyone was beginning to wonder where you were," Maria continued, stepping closer to the tree. "It's past seven."

"Is it?" There was an astonishment in Louisa's voice; the sun did not seem that low on the western horizon, but as she looked down to her governess, she knew it had to be true. "I'm sorry, Fräulein Maria—I didn't realize it was so late." Wrapping one arm around the tree's trunk, Louisa found her footing on the first of the series of knots that had taken her up. Her mother had always worried the most at this point, Louisa knew—worried that a branch would crack, that her foot would slip, that her fingers would give way.

And every bit of that worry was easily visible on her face. But Fräulein Maria—she simply waited, as though she knew Louisa had the strength to hold to the branches, that nothing ill would befall her. Still, as Louisa set her second foot on the grass below the tree, she heard her governess sigh with a quiet relief.

"I wouldn't have thought _you_ would be worried about my climbing a tree, Fräulein," Louisa said with a laugh, smiling. "I thought you liked being up a tree as well as myself."

"I do," Maria said, settling her arm around the girl's shoulder for a moment, pulling her close in a quick embrace. She returned Louisa's grin as she drew back and they turned to walk towards the villa, just visible as a shadow on the hill they began to ascend. "And I believe you have climbed enough trees in your life to be certain of how high to go and just which branches are safe. Your father, though, was beginning to worry."

"Because he didn't know where I was?" Louisa's eyebrows rose as she glanced to her governess. If Father had not known _precisely_ where she was...then she was certain she no longer knew him.

"No," Maria said quickly, shaking her head, "he simply hadn't expected you to be out so long." She paused, fidgeting with her fingers for a moment. "I don't believe your father would know what to do if something should happen to you, Louisa—to any of you."

"I know," Louisa said quietly, looking down to the grass that shifted in the soft breeze. "But whenever it seems that something—_anything_ is too much..." She turned her face over her shoulder, looking to the tree once more. "It always calms me to climb that tree. I have ever since I was a little girl." _And so many times in the past four years..._

Maria laughed gently, pulling Louisa away from the memories. "I understand. I had my own tree when I was a little girl—one that looked right over the abbey wall. I could see into the garden, and I knew even when I was a child that I wanted to join the sisters."

Cresting the last of the hill's rise, Louisa stretched her arms upward, yawning to herself as the house took on a solid form in her sight. "Somehow, I could believe that, Fräulein."

"Just so that you know, your father told me exactly where to find you, Louisa," Maria said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "I think he could have pointed to the precise tree even from the veranda."

"Probably," Louisa agreed with a small laugh. "I think Mother might have been able to do so as well." How was it, Louisa wondered as her voice trailed into silence, that such a simple thought could awaken such a powerful want? She knew precisely what she wished for in that instant—that she could never have it again mattered not at all. As her steps stopped, the sound of her following ceased, and Maria turned to her.

"Is something wrong?" Maria's eyes narrowed, for the child's frown was hardly the scowl she had long ago become accustomed to seeing on Louisa's face.

"I never really understood her, Fräulein—and I know she could not understand me, either." A tear burst over the lid of her lower eyelid, and Louisa reached up a hand to scrub it away, the tips of her fingers drawing away a bit of grime she had not realized was on her cheek. "She was my mother, and I never understood anything about her. I knew her for nine years..."

Hurrying to the girl's side, Maria pulled her into a tight embrace, one more certain that the friendly one but a few minutes earlier. "It's all right, Louisa," she whispered, wincing. Louisa's pain tore at her even more than the memory of her own mother's death, for her own mother she had loved as a friend. This girl, though, simply because she was not _like_ her mother, had never possessed that. Those happy memories were but a dream for her.

"I miss her so much, Fräulein," Louisa said, her words hardly taking more form than breaths against her governess's shoulder. Her own hands rose to clutch Maria closer to her. Yet she felt so safe in her governess's embrace—as if she _did_ hold her mother so close. "I wonder so often if that might have made the years easier to bear—Liesl and Brigitta remembered her well enough, and had happy memories, but I just had Father—"

"And you didn't have him any longer," Maria finished for her, pulling away enough to cast her gaze on this girl that had for so long been an enigma that she had striven to comprehend. "You can't change that, Louisa." She pushed the short hair of the thirteen year-old's fringe aside. "God as my witness, if your father could change _anything_ about those four years, he would. Just know that you will never have to endure that again."

"I know," Louisa said, unwrapping her arms from Maria. "Sometimes, I even think that whenever I look at him, all I see is his regret."

"Here," Maria said, offering Louisa her arm. Threading her own around Maria's elbow, Louisa walked alongside her governess. Glancing to the girl, Maria continued. "But do understand, darling, guilt is a powerful emotion. Your father has more than enough."

"I know," Louisa said again, squinting as the sun flared over the sihlouette of the villa before finally fading as they passed into the shadow. God only knew she had as much buried in her own memories...

_"Now,_ really, _Louisa," her father said, exasperation in his voice, "your mother will have my neck if she finds out I let you climb that tree while you were sick."_

_"Please, Father?" she asked, widening her eyes as she gazed up to him. "She never has to find out!" She was so fed up with being confined to her bedroom, even while she worked through the scarlet fever that she had been suffering under for nearly a week. Most of her brothers and sisters were ill as well, though not Marta and Gretl. "Please?" The walk he had agreed to take with her was not enough.  
_

_"I'm sorry," he said, laughing as his hands dropped to her shoulders, steering her away from the tree, smiling to himself as disappointment crossed her face, "she will. When you come back panting for breath from the exertion, your skirt torn, and dirt on your face, I can assure you that she_ will _know."_

_"But I want to," the little girl said, setting her hands on her hips for a moment. "I don't want to be sick any more!"_

_"Soon you won't be, Louie," her father said, laughing again as the girl scrunched her nose; he knew she hated that nickname. "Soon you'll be well, just like Marta and Gretl, and your mother and myself."_

_"Do you_ promise_?" the nine year-old asked, reaching up with her hand to tug on his, swinging his arm back and forth with her gradually returning strength. Among her siblings that had been stricken with the sickness, she was the first to begin her recovery._

_Her father bent to her, his hands on her back to draw her close once more, and he kissed her forehead gently. "I promise," he whispered. "I promise you that, Louisa."_

"Louisa?" Maria's voice drew her back, and the girl shook her head; she had not realized that she had fallen silent.

"I'm sorry," she said, forcing a smile. Slipping her arm from her governess's, she let her hands fall behind her back, clasping them without a thought as they drew even nearer to the villa.

"We missed you this afternoon," Maria said, not certain what to make of Louisa's sudden silence. "I think you would have enjoyed it, though the time in the store was a bit much for Marta and Gretl."

"Maybe," Louisa said, her words flat. Such a care for dresses...that was her mother's domain. _She wouldn't want you like this,_ she thought, _just thinking on what you no longer have._ Her gaze narrowed at her governess. _She would wish for you to be happy_—_to have a new mother who will love you as much as she did.  
_

"I'm afraid we will need to have you there the next time, though," Maria continued as they gained the first few steps that lead to the veranda. "The designs are almost completed, and now all our measurements will be needed."

"When will that be?"

"Next Thursday." Glancing to Louisa from the corner of her eye, Maria hoped she did not imagine the quiet excitement that seemed to at least take root in the girl. "I told your sisters earlier today I was afraid I would have to trick you into going. Was I wrong?"

"Maybe," Louisa said with a smile as their feet lead them at last to threshold of the villa. "Perhaps we should go in?" Her eyebrows rose, as though she remembered a joke that Maria did not know, an expression that Maria wondered she had not seen on the girl more often.

But she just smiled as well, though hers was less mysterious than Louisa's. "I think that might be a good idea." Raising her hand, she indicated for Louisa to go first. Swallowing the memories, Louisa walked into the house; this was no time dwell on what had been.


	55. Two Arrivals

**Chapter 55: Two Arrivals**

"Damn," Max muttered as he folded the telegram he had just ripped open. Another possible entry for the Salzburg Folk Festival had just slipped through his fingers, and time was of the essence. "Really, he might at least have given me more notice." Snapping his pocket closed, he held another curse close.

His stomach rumbled gently despite the massive breakfast he had finished just an hour or so before at Georg's villa: two strudels, a plate of eggs, and a bacon dumpling, not to mention two cups of coffee. But his stomach always begged for soothing whenever his world seemed too much, and this morning was no exception.

An outdoor café loomed ahead, the sweet scent of coffee reaching his nostrils, and his stomach grumbled once more; he had not the strength to deny himself at least that comfort. Reaching the collection of tables set along the sidewalk, he drew back a chair from one and settled himself down, folding his arms across his rounded belly. One day, he really would regret his indulgences at Georg's home, no matter their marvelous taste. But, Max decided, he could hardly be expected to return before the beginning of lunch, and the evening's meal would still be some time in coming. He smiled to himself as the waiter approached; even dinnertime in the Von Trapp home had been so changed by Maria's simple presence.

"May I take your order, sir?" the waiter asked, and Max turned to the man.

"A cup of coffee and a croissant with some butter on the side."

"Yes, sir," the waiter said with a quick nod before he turned on his heel to place his customer's order. Leaning back heavily in his chair, Max allowed the gentle breeze to sweep away the morning's heart.

Georg truly was fortunate, he knew, to have found Maria, a woman who so obviously loved him despite the man's flaws. And there were many—in their long friendship, Max had discovered _that_ if nothing else. But more than that, the young woman, hardly more than a girl when Georg's age was considered, had refused to allow his friend to destroy himself.

_That was all he had been doing for the past four years,_ Max thought, _simply allowing his despair to consume him._ He hadn't been ready for her—_never_ would have been ready for her had it not been for his children. Max smiled tightly at the memory: those seven children, Liesl to Gretl all looking equally guilty with piles of books in their hands. _Georg should thank his children as well as his fiancée,_ he thought, straightening in his chair as the waiter returned, setting a steaming cup of coffee on a white saucer and a white plate bearing a flaky, still warm croissant and a pat of butter with a knife by its side before Max.

"Thank you," Max said, reaching to accept the napkin the man offered him as well.

"Yes, sir." The waiter nodded his head and stepped away, glancing around the remainder of the café for another customer in need of service.

Shaking out the folds of the cloth, Max dropped the white napkin into his lap. Even the few minutes between his order and the presentation of this nearly bubbling liquid had been enough to whet his appetite, and the first sip burst on his tongue with all the pleasure he had anticipated. Returning the cup to its saucer with a gentle clink, Max reached for the croissant, the gentle rumbling of his stomach increased by the taste of coffee. As he sliced a bit of butter with the knife, he glanced up to the clock along the street—and blinked harshly.

Did he truly see _that_ face, that man he had not for so many years seen? No, Max decided, it was simply his mind playing a trick on him. But every feature had been precisely as he remembered, even those eyes—dark as ever. _No,_ Max thought, raising the sweet-smelling croissant for a bite, _that would be too much.

* * *

_

"Now, really, children," Georg said, searching for exasperation as he opened his eyes, "do you think you'll be able to hide from me for very long?" A quiet giggle rose from one of the bushes just to his left, followed by a hushing sound that was louder than the laughter. _Marta,_ he decided, _and one of my sons._ He could not identify which boy, though.

He stood between those two and the base each of the eight people currently in hiding were striving to reach; so long as he searched the area that kept him between that bush and the tree, the base, he could be certain they would not escape him. As for the others, though...Georg could not fathom just where they had secreted themselves. _In a far better position than Marta,_ Georg thought, smiling to himself as he stepped away from the tree for the first time.

_I really should be better at refusing at least_ some_ of my children'__s requests,_ he thought. But he did not think he should ever reach that amount of restraint. Brigitta's turn to choose the day's activity had arrived, and for once, she had selected an activity that had taken them far from the villa—across the lake in fact. He would never have thought to see the day Brigitta would willingly be pulled from her ever growing collection of books, but that time had come. Combing through the first of the bushes that seemed to have given up that gentle laughter, Georg continued to himself, _And I don__'__t believe I shall ever want that restraint._

Behind another tree, across the small clearing from that would that would provide safety, Maria bit her lip. She could just see Georg approaching a shrub near Marta and Friedrich's hiding place; several times as Georg had counted, Maria had motioned for the girl to conceal herself farther from her father, but in the end the seven year-old had ducked into that bush, Friedrich following her to try to keep her quiet. Though the girl was not by nature talkative, her mouth could, at times, get the better of her.

"Fräulein Maria?" a small voice asked, and Maria glanced down to Gretl, sitting with her legs drawn to her chest at the base of the tree that hid her as well as her governess.

"Shh," Maria whispered, pressing a finger to her lips, and Gretl's eyes widened suddenly as she remembered the game they were playing. Bending down so that her mouth was close to the child's ear, Maria continued in her same nearly silent tone, "You wouldn't want your father to find us, would you?" Gretl shook her head, tossing her messy hair from side to side as her eyes remained so open. Standing straight once again, Maria peered around the tree another time; in answering Gretl, she had lost track of her fiancé.

At her governess's feet, Gretl frowned. She enjoyed hide and seek as much as her brothers and sisters, but this part of it was no fun—waiting quietly for her father to find them. Fräulein Maria was still just peering around the tree the girl saw as she looked up again, tapping her long, thin fingers on the bark. She wanted to _do_ something, not just sit! Pushing herself to her feet, Gretl smoothed the last few wrinkles from her dress and ran around the tree, trying to remember just where Marta and Friedrich were hiding. The sound of even the quiet steps drew Maria's gaze, and her frown.

"Gretl!" she hissed, reaching towards the five year-old, but her fingers did not even reach the strands of brown hair that streamed out behind the child. As she bit her lip a second time, Maria took another look around the tree; she still had no sight of Georg, a thought that, when she considered the present moment, made her stomach tense. Her fiancé was clever enough to devise a strategy she would never understand. She had completely lost sight of Gretl, but she thought she spotted a small movement where Marta and her brother hid.

_There is Gretl,_ she thought, smiling in spite of herself, _burying herself with them, and probably showing exactly where they are._ At least, though, her own hiding place would not be revealed by the girl—

A pair of strong arms slipped about her waist, and a sudden warmth pressed against her back. "Never mind," she whispered, sighing quietly.

"Never mind what?" asked Georg, pressing his face against Maria's neck, holding her even closer.

"Never mind hiding," Maria said, laughing quietly as the hug became tighter. "I was wondering if Gretl's leaving would show you where I was, but it seems you already knew." She felt his mouth curving in a grin against her skin, an expression that turned to a gentle kiss against the first bit of her collarbone that her dress revealed. He couldn't know the weakness such a simple gesture created in her knees, and he could certainly only feel the barest of the trembling in her body.

"Where a five year-old is concerned, my love," he whispered, pulling his lips from her long enough to speak, "one knows most things. It is rather the same with a seven year-old."

Twisting in his embrace to catch his gaze, Maria smiled at him for a moment. "I told her that she should not hide herself so close to you, but she would not hear of it."

"Hmm," he murmured, lifting one hand to cup her chin and drawing her mouth forward for a gentle kiss. "And which of our sons felt it necessary to conceal himself with her?"

"That would be Friedrich." Maria dropped her head against Georg's chest, exhaling slowly. "Though I do think that Gretl is with them now, as well."

"And that would leave us with no children over here," Georg said, a tone of regret in his voice that did not reach his eyes, still sparkling.

"That would be true." Lifting her face, she smiled, the expression covering her entire face.

"Perhaps you will forgive me if I take advantage of that?" His eyebrows rose with his question.

"Well..." Maria raised one hand to his cheek, drawing the strong shape of of his face, shivering as his fingers traced the line of her spine. "I would be highly disappointed if you didn't." Clasping her hands around his neck, pulling herself to him, Maria allowed herself to be swept away by the intensity of his kiss, the sudden noise of the children running towards safety hardly even a distraction to the growing desire within them both.

* * *

"How much longer until we're back home?" asked Gretl, turning her face to Maria, who smiled at the hint of sun still remaining on the child's skin. "I want dinner." 

"Not very long," she said, hugging the young girl gently. "It's just across the lake, and we're nearly there already—but more depends on just how fast your father and brother can row this boat."

"But I'm hungry _now_!" The girl set her hands on her hips, though this was difficult as she sat in Maria's lap; at the opposite end of the row boat, Georg laughed as he leaned backwards, digging the oars in his hands into the placid surface of the lake another time. The day had waned quickly, afternoon more so than the morning, and lunch seemed far in their memories.

"If Friedrich would row faster," he said, and sitting behind Maria and his youngest sister, the boy scowled.

"How do you know it's _my_ fault?" he asked, slicing the oars through the water again.

"I'm not about to admit blame," Georg said, smiling broadly at his son. Truly, he could not call Friedrich a boy any longer—some time when he had not been watching, that boy had transformed into a young man.

"Well," Maria said, glancing over her shoulder to Friedrich, "perhaps if the two of you tried to work together, rather than against one another..." Turning herself right, she brushed a hand over Gretl's hair.

"That will have to be another time." Thrusting the oars down and bringing them up again, Georg paused in his rowing for a moment. "We're nearly to shore." The ground behind the house had grown close with each stroke of the oars, and he tried to hold himself from drifting into memories of the previous time a row boat had drawn near...to what had followed. Sitting just in front of him, Marta leaned over the edge of the boat, running her hand in the cool water.

"I wouldn't do that," he said, reaching for her shoulder to set her straight.

"But it's hot," she said as he released her, dipping her hand in again.

Turning his attention towards the house, Georg brought her to the center of the boat once more. "Still, I thought you had already learned that losing your balance in a boat is not something to be done."

"But we're not standing up this time," Marta said, wrinkling her nose. Though her hand still ran through the water, she no longer leaned over the boat's edge.

"I suppose that's true." His eyes wandering along the veranda, the boat now nearly to its stone edge, Georg blinked harshly. Did he truly see what he thought? No, surely it was the sun on the lake obscuring his vision, or the house casting shadows on Max—it could not be _him!_ Not after so many years. But as the row boat came even closer...

"Damn," he whispered, the word drawing Marta's eyes upward, her hand now hardly skimming the water; he rarely cursed, and even more rarely did so in front of his children. But he was now certain—it could only be him. From the opposite end of the boat, Maria felt her stomach tense—something was wrong, for that intense anger from those few days ago had risen again, just as sharply and suddenly.

"Georg?" Maria said, unsure for herself what to make of her fiancé's sudden anger. Following his gaze, her forehead furrowed as she came across a tall, solitary man standing at the edge of the veranda. Even from the distance on the water, she could easily see the finely tailored suit, and the streaks of dark hair that had certainly once covered his head that was now mixed with gray. His fingers tightening on the oars still in his hands, Georg tried to hold his anger in silence. To see him here, the man who had caused hurt in the woman he loved—_that_ was unacceptable!


	56. The Demands of Blood

**Chapter 56: The Demands of Blood**

Crossing his arms, Peter Möhrke tried to hold his foot still; if he was nothing else, Georg was observant, a trait he certainly had retained from his days in the navy. _Though I do suppose that more than anything, he is an abysmal fool,_ he thought, clearing his throat gently. The man sat at one end of a swaying row boat, and nearly at the other, a young woman held a small girl with falling waves of brown hair in her lap. _That must be her._ Between them were most of Georg's children, the great-nieces and nephews—he could scarcely believe one woman had produced so many children—he had never before met. But then again...how many years had passed since he had last seen his nephew, let alone spoken to him? _Too many._

Had the memories of _that_ afternoon not worked into his thoughts, Georg knew he would have stood, just as his children had, and perhaps thrown every one of them into the water surrounding the boat. As amusing as that might have been, this was not the time for it. "Friedrich," he said, lifting his hands from Marta's shoulders to take his oars again.

"Yes, Father?" The boy's face was confused as he dipped the oars into the water another time.

"Bring the boat over to shore." His eyes traveled over his uncle once more, even the aged man drawing forth remembrances of his childhood that he had so long striven to forget entirely. Turning to his family seated before him, he smiled tightly, and only for their benefit. "Once you are out of the boat, children, I would like you to go change for dinner. It must be nearly time by now."

An unenthusiastic chorus of "Yes, Father," came from his children, Louisa turning to look over her shoulder to Liesl, her own confusion met by her older sister's. This sudden change in their father was a characteristic they had become unusd to, one that seemed to have been brought on by this man they did not know who gazed out at them with a quizzical eye.

"Georg," Maria said, shifting Gretl from her lap to sit the girl beside her on the wooden seat that extended across the width of the boat, "what's wrong."

"Nothing," he said, leaning back for another stroke of the oars, wondering for a moment if she could read the lie in that single word. Was it truly a lie, though? As the small boat drifted to the edge of the stone, he glanced to his uncle another time. _Something shall soon be made right,_ he decided, reaching out a hand to catch the small pole that would hold the boat from floating out on the lake. Tossing the chain about that pole, Georg tightened it quickly before he clamored onto the stone and turned to offer his hands to Marta.

She held her own up eagerly, and Georg swung his daughter to the shore easily. "Wait here," he said lowly, turning to the boat again, now reaching for Brigitta. The free end of the row boat had begun to drift from the shore, and the gulf of water widened. At his end, Friedrich leaned over, reaching for the stone with one of the oars in his hand, and Brigitta brought her hands up to meet her father's.

"Brigitta, don't," Georg said, but the boat had already begun to wobble. His daughter thrust out her hand for him, a grasp he took quickly, and still the boat dipped from side to side. Friedrich's end slid farther from the stone despite his efforts with the oar, until Brigitta's arm was stretched its entire length to hold to her father. Her eyes widened, but she fixing her fingers more strongly in his even as the boat pulled farther away.

He winced as the girl tumbled into the water, soaking herself up to her waist, along with the lower portion of her hair. At the opposite end, Maria had leaned to the side to compensate for Brigitta's weight hanging over the edge, and now the small boat dipped precariously in that direction. For a moment, Georg hoped that Friedrich would be able to steady the craft as he still tried to pull it to shore with the oar, but the entire boat turned over, sending the remaining children and Maria into the water.

Tightening his arms around his daughter, Georg pulled her onto the shore, setting her own her feet carefully. "You'll have to be more careful next time you try to get out of a boat, Brigitta," he said, tapping the side of her nose as she frowned. "Have you ever made it out of one without falling in?"

"I'm sorry, Father," she said, dropping her face, but he smiled and drew her close to him in a hug.

"Accidents happen," he said as he scooped a handful of her sopping hair away from his jacket, already dripping with water. She looked up to him and after a moment, smiled just as broadly, if more sheepishly. "Well, just wait here for a second, and I'll help Maria get your brothers and sisters out."

Maria had managed to find Gretl quickly in the water and was holding tightly to the girl, though she thought the child's feet might in fact reach the muddy bottom of the lake. Louisa had taken hold of the boat's edge and was tugging it close to the stone, trying to draw it from her siblings' way. Sending Brigitta off to stand next to Marta, Georg stepped towards the water's edge, extending a hand to Liesl.

Peter could hardly recall the names of his nephew's children, and had not even remembered that the youngest had been born. Yes, the last he had remembered was Kurt, the boy that seemed to be intent on pushing himself from the water without the help of his father. As he made his way down the steps towards the lake, Georg pulled most of his remaining children from the water, Kurt and Friedrich managing to escape the depths on their own strength.

"Here," he said, taking Gretl from Maria's arms. The girl's dress soaked what small bit of his shirt was not already drenched, and as she clasped her hands together behind his neck, she set water dripping down his back, a sensation he had despised since he had first experienced it. Placing her beside her sisters, Louisa unbinding her hair to wring the water from her braid, he turned to Maria.

Taking the hand he offered, she pushed herself up with her other, almost scraping her knee against the rough stone. Georg pulled her to her feet, almost laughing—when he had seen her in such a state before, he had been appalled, angered, but now he found himself only amused, and filled with wonderment that she still appeared so very lovely. "Now, Fräulein," he said, brushing aside dripping strands of her hair with his hand, "I have told you before that you are _very_ repetitious, have I not?"

"I believe so," Maria said, blushing at the memory of the conversation. She had hardly been so embarrassed in her life than she had at that moment, wearing only her nightdress as the Captain had come into her bedroom, prepared to snap at his disobedient children and their equally disobedient governess.

"Good."

"Though I don't remember you being nearly so pleasant that time," she added, her eyebrows rising.

"I will agree, that I wasn't." Cupping her chin gently, he drew her mouth to his in a quick kiss.

"Georg, the children," she said quietly as their mouths were parted enough for her to find a breath. "They'll catch their death of cold if we let them stand out here like this."

"I suppose you're right," he said, not dropping his hand from her face for a moment. His eyes were filling with a want Maria was just beginning to understand, a desire that she was finding more and more within herself. But drawing his hand from her chin, he turned to his children, smiling as they stood dripping."Why don't you all go change," he said, biting back his grin at the six soaked children, Marta somehow misplaced among them, "and Maria and I will be along to join you for dinner in a bit."

Unlike the run they had broken into the previous time they had stood like that, most of the children ambled slowly into the house, rubbing their hands on their arms, feeling chilled from the cool water. Liesl disappearing last into the house with a shivering Gretl, Georg turned to Maria again, holding her close. "There," he whispered, kissing her lips another time, "and I think I shall claim that as my payment."

"Well, Georg," she began, "then you're quite..." Her voice trailed into silence; her face was clear as she drew back, but her eyes were darkened as she glanced over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the man who had descended the steps to the soaking stone, who had hardly given a glance towards the children, who had whispered to themselves, wondering just who this man was. Though he wished to do nothing of the sort, Georg forced a smile to his mouth, and turned to the approaching sound of his uncle's footsteps.

"I had not expected to see your family in such a manner," Peter said, his gaze running over the young woman before him. His nephew had slipped an arm about her waist—she could only be the governess that he was so intent on marrying, on disgracing himself with.

"Many things have changed since we last spoke," Georg said, an icy tone in his voice. _Finish this as swiftly as possible,_ he thought, drawing Maria closer. "And a great many of those are only Maria's doing."

"This young lady?" Peter waved a hand in her direction, feigning ignorance. He could not quite bring himself to smile.

"Yes." Georg felt Maria stiffen even as he held her closer, and he breathed deeper himself. "This is Maria Rainer, my fiancée, and my children's governess. Maria, this is my uncle, Peter Möhrke."

"Ah," Peter said, the pleasant expression that he had forced himself to wear fading. This girl was nothing like Georg's first wife, Agathe; he had no need for a woman who bring him nothing but trouble. But now was not the time for such discussions, in front of her. Reaching for her hand, cringing at its cold surface, Peter drew her fingers to his lips, dropping her grasp as soon as propriety permitted. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear."

"Thank you," Maria said, her stomach unsettled as this man's gaze rose along her another time. Even with Georg so close, she did not think she would feel comfortable anywhere near his uncle.

"Darling," Georg said, loosening his arm about her waist, "why don't you go check on the children."

"Make sure they haven't drowned in their clothes?" she asked, smiling as her fiancé's eyes lit with amusement.

"Something like that." She allowed him to forget so much, and to remember that which truly mattered—and she did so with no effort. Finding her hand, he squeezed her fingers lightly. "And I think you will need to change for dinner as well."

"Perhaps. Don't you think you will, too?"

"I may need to. But you go on, I'll join the rest of you in a bit." Smiling at him a final time, Maria turned to ascend the steps to the terrace, walking swifter as she passed Georg's uncle. Even without words, she could feel his disdain, his disapproval.

_Wait,_ Peter thought, his eyes following her path. _Wait until she will not hear._ Her steps fading, he wondered at last—just what would he say, what words would bring his nephew to his senses?

"She is very beautiful," Peter said after a moment, tapping his fingers along his arms as the governess disappeared into the house, a dripping trail left behind her. Georg held his tongue, waiting for the continuation certain to follow. "I can understand now how you could let yourself be taken in by her."

"And just what do you mean by that?" Georg asked, stepping away from this man—his _uncle_. Lord knew he completely understood what was meant, but he had to hear the entirety of the man's accusation.

"Come now, Georg," Peter said, his eyebrows rising, "let's not dance around this issue—I think we both understand the reason you are engaged to your children's governess."

"I know that I do, but I'm not certain you do." Georg set his teeth, nearly biting the tip of his tongue. It was the only thing that could come now.

"Georg—you cannot possibly love the girl." Peter waved a hand in the direction of the villa. "That's what she is—hardly more than a child. She can't be more than ten years older than Liesl—more a sister to them than a mother."

"She has been a mother to them since her first day here," Georg said, the words more a growl than anything, walking to the railing that surrounded the veranda. He did not have the courage to even look at his uncle at the moment. "Despite everything they and I did to her even that day."

"I do not think you understand entirely," Peter said, dropping his arms as he stepped closer to his nephew. "For your children and yourself to see her as their mother is one thing, but the rest of Salzburg—Georg, they shall only see the necessity, not the ancillary reasons."

"There is no _necessity,_" Georg snapped, the word a poison in his mouth as his breath came in a hiss. He let his weight rest against the railing, searching for that calm had he enjoyed for the past few weeks, the last month, even, that Maria brought so easily.

"I cannot believe that." Another few footsteps brought him within arm's length of his nephew. "Love may be blind and fickle, but rarely is it so foolish."

"Then allow me to take pride in my foolishness." Georg brought his gaze to uncle's face swiftly, feeling only the burning rage—perhaps even a tinge of disbelief. What twist of fate had God found so comical to curse him with a relationship to this cold imbecile?

"If it were only for yourself," Peter said, crossing his arms on his chest again, "I would be glad for you." _And mock you from afar,_ he thought, blinking at the setting sun's blinding reflection upon the gently rippling lake that lay before them. "But there is more than yourself to consider, Georg."

"If you mean to speak of my children, I should suffer more of their wrath if I did not marry Maria." Of course, his uncle had meant nothing of the sort, but if the man had found the audacity to bring such accusations to his home, then Georg would force him to speak every word of his innuendos.

"Your children I would expect to be as foolhardy as yourself in this matter—but the families of your mother and father, Georg, we are not so blind as they are. You have already brought this disgrace, as I am certain is known about Salzburg." He turned to his nephew, narrowing his eyes at the stubborn profile he saw. "I beg you, do not extend it—do not make it permanent." For a moment, Peter, paused to find his breath. "I mentioned in my letter earlier—"

"That there are other ways," Georg finished, standing straight as rage flared once more. "Yes, I remember your assertion well, the anger it caused in myself, and the hurt in my fiancée. But I shall tell you again—there is no necessity such as the one you speak of."

"Then _why?_" Peter asked, spreading his hands and stepping nearer his nephew. "Forgive my confusion, Georg—"

"You are only confused because you _will_ not understand," Georg continued, not willing to hear anymore. Damn this man, he would not listen to him any longer! "I am marrying Maria in a matter of weeks because I love her. I must do so for that reason alone, not because I have gotten her with child!"

"Georg," Peter began, but Georg would not have it. If this man would not show Maria—show himself!—the barest civility, then he would not offer it in return.

"We agree on very little—I already know your views on the coming _Anschluss_, and it seems that we shall forever disagree on this as well. But if you cannot show kindness to my fiancée, then I am afraid I will ask you to not return to my home. Frankly, what you believe concerning our impending marriage matters little enough to either of us." Uncurling his fingers from around the railing of the veranda, Georg turned swiftly on the heel of his boot, crossing the pale stone to the back entrance of his home.

"Georg, please!" Peter called again, nearly desperate. "You must listen to reason—"

"Reason from a man who would sell his own nation to jackals?" He gave pause long enough to fix his eye on his uncle's gaze; to hear _that_ was more than he could endure! "I will not have it. I hope you have made yourself scarce by the time I step out here again!" It seemed that his uncle tried to speak again, but Georg had swept into the house, angrily drawing the door closed behind him.

_How _dare _he? _he thought, the anger almost a burning in his chest. _How can he claim such a right to interfere in my life—in the life I will make with Maria?_ He shook his head, running a hand over his face, trying to calm himself. _Because he is proud, as all the rest of your family is—as you still can be.  
_

The foyer was empty, but the gentle din of his children's voices echoed from the dining room, mixed with Maria's cheerful laughter. _How does she do that? _he asked himself, walking towards the sound of his family. He could not even see her, was not even near her, but the knowledge that she was so close was enough to push aside that anger. _Your uncle does not matter,_ Georg thought as he found the first glimpse of his family. _These are the only ones who matter, who _mean _anything._

"...be of some help to me, Maria," he heard Max say. It seemed the man had returned just in time for the evening meal, a feat he had not expected from his old friend. "It would be a shame to not have the group of you in the festival." Reaching the threshold, Georg let his weight lean against the door frame, taking a moment to simply gaze at the group before him. The children and Maria had dried themselves quickly, all but Marta, and had changed from their sopping clothes to their evening dress; their hair still shone with the water that had soaked them, though.

"I'm not sure that's my decision," Maria said, pausing to unfold Gretl's napkin and settle it in the girl's lap. She fidgeted beside her governess, looking warily at the pile of spinach leaves in the bowl before her plate.

"It should be," Max said, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table; he seemed impatient to Georg's eye, and for a moment, he wondered that the man had not already begun to fill his plate with the sausages from the plate before him. "You'll soon be their mother."

"And Georg will still be their father." Maria shook her head gently. "It is not my place to change his mind about such things."

"Please, Maria—"

"No, Max."

"Then I will simply ask him myself," Max said, his gaze finally rising to the door and to his old friend, his face taking a pleasant smile. "Certain there is nothing I can do to change your mind?"

"I'm afraid so," Georg said, straightening as he walked into the dining room. Maria had been fussing with the collar of the youngest child's dress, but she turned at the mention of her fiancé, her mouth curving up in a smile that lit her entire face. She was still beautiful, Georg saw, despite the wet hair plastered to her forehead.

"Good evening," he said to the table, and a ragged response that seemed a jumble of words came to him—a_ wonderful _chaos. Pulling out his chair from beneath the table, beside Maria, he smiled as his spirits ease. _It is all so simple,_ he thought, leaning to kiss her cheek, her skin cool and a bit damp yet, _when all that you love is before you._


	57. In Your Eyes

**Chapter 57: In Your Eyes**

Settling back in his chair, Georg smiled to himself as Marta and Gretl chased one another about the fountain again. He sat at one of Salzburg's many open air cafés in the downtown, simply enjoying this time of watching four of his children. Maria and the older girls, Liesl, Louisa, and Brigitta, had been needed in the dress shop for additional alterations to their dresses; for their part, Marta and Gretl were not disappointed to have been left out.

Friedrich and Kurt seemed content to occupy themselves with a quiet card game as they sat on the fountain's edge, Kurt relishing every opportunity to slap away his brother's hand. Truthfully, as he sipped his cup of coffee, Georg was surprised the pair had not yet thrown half the deck into the water beside them with the ferocity of their slaps. The girls had rounded the fountain again...he had lost track of the number of times they had done so, but now Marta ran after Gretl, laughing as her sister shrieked, weaving from side to side in a near fright, determined to not be caught.

"Father!" she shouted, and Georg glanced up from his steaming cup quickly. He hardly had enough time to set it on the table beside him before his youngest child launched herself into his lap, drawing a groan from the depths of his chest.

"I think you're a little old for that," he said, searching for the breath she had knocked from him as Marta slowed to a stop before him.

"But she was chasing me," Gretl said, burying herself in her father's embrace.

"Only because you did the same to me!" Marta said, her mouth dropping in a frown as she planted her hands firmly on her hands.

"You're faster than me," her sister, said, turning her face away from her father and over her shoulder.

"So," Marta began, but Georg waved one hand for her silence.

"You _were_ running after her," Georg said, shifting the younger girl onto one of his legs, resting her small body against one of his arms. "Come on—up here." He offered a hand to Marta, who smiled widely as she clamored into his lap. "You're almost too big for this, Marta." His other arm came around Marta's back, drawing her to his chest. Despite the weight on his legs and the warmth unneeded in the summer air and sun, he smiled, and tightened his hold on both his daughters; to just be so near to them, that was all he wanted in this moment, to give them that closeness he had denied them for those long years.

"Father?" Gretl's voice was quiet as it rose to his ears, and he turned his face to hers.

"Hmm?"

"Will we be happy, Father?" Her eyes widened as a breeze carried Kurt's groan of frustration from the fountain, for Friedrich had claimed the entire pile of cards. "Will we be a family like we were before? Will it be like it was when we had Mother?"

Pulling her closer, Georg kissed the top of her head gently, drawing Marta near as well. Among all of his children, Marta and Gretl alone would have no memories of Agathe; Maria would be the only mother they ever knew. "Of course," he said lowly. "Did you ever doubt that?"

"No!" She might have protested further, but her father's deep laughter and her sister's light giggles brought her to silence, and she crossed her arms on her chest as she pouted. "But I don't want things to change from what they are now."

"You don't want me to marry Fräulein Maria?" Georg asked with a feigned surprise, enjoying the opportunity to tease his daughter. "That's a long two weeks you want to continue, Gretl."

"I didn't," she began, but Georg's laughter again quieted her words.

"I know you didn't mean that," he said, lifting his hand from around Marta to reach for his coffee. "In the future, though, you might want to be more careful about what you say."

"Hmph," was Gretl's only response.

"Father, what is that?" asked Marta as Georg raised the still steaming cup over her head, bringing it to his lips for a sip.

"This?" he lowered it to her eye level, and she nodded, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she did. "Coffee."

"Is it good?"

"_I_ think it is, but I'm not sure you would agree," Georg said, smiling as Marta's eyebrows drooped. "Would you like to try some?" She nodded, her entire body shaking. "Here, then." Trying to keep the leg on which he balanced Marta motionless, Georg raised the cup to her lips, tipping it up to let some of the still hot liquid into her mouth.

Marta's eyes clenched as she swallowed and she wrinkled her forehead, shuddering at the taste. "Ah," Georg said, settling the cup on the table once more, "I told you that you wouldn't like it."

"That tastes nasty!" Marta said, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

"It's something you grow accustomed to." Resting his hand against her back once more, Georg let his eyes rise to his sons, now shuffling their cards another time. "Just don't let Fräulein Maria know I permitted you to try it."

"Why not?" asked Gretl, eager to be part of the conversation again.

"Well," he said, pulling both of his daughters closer to him, "I don't believe she would approve."

"Why not?" asked Gretl again, her voice impatient.

"Coffee is something ones does not typically give to children," he said, shifting Gretl on his leg; his muscles were beginning to ache. "I'm sorry, girls, but you'll have to go down. You're both too big for this." Both girls frowned, but slipped from their father's lap without a protest, straightening their skirts as they regained their balance. Reaching for his coffee again, Georg had another sip as Marta and Gretl began running after one another again.

"That's cheating!" Friedrich shouted, slapping his array of cards on the stone of the fountain, and Georg's gaze now came to his sons.

"It was not!" Kurt said, scooping the pile between himself and his brother into his own. "You just don't like that I beat you to it."

"We weren't playing that way," Friedrich said, leaning back on his hands, blinking at the spray of water that splashed lightly on them both.

"You didn't complain when it got you two Jacks!"

"I wasn't playing the way you were—"

"Friedrich, Kurt," Georg said, an irritation creeping into his voice at their bickering as he set his cup aside once more. He had their attention, if just for a moment, and both his sons quickly exchanged darkened glances. "You don't need to argue."

"But Kurt was cheating, Father," Friedrich said, shifting his weight forward and slipping his fingers beneath his cards to set the pile in his grasp once more. "We weren't using that rule this time."

"Yes, we _were_," Kurt said, turning a card face up on the rough stone."I won't argue when you win by it."

"That's not the point—"

"It doesn't really matter anymore," Georg said, standing from his chair. "I think we're about to go." Turning to follow his father's gaze, Kurt nodded, for there were the rest of his sisters—Liesl, Louisa, and Brigitta—all appearing as excited as only girls could be after so long in a dress shop, followed closely by Fräulein Maria.

She seemed radiant to Georg as she smiled, laughed at a small quip of Brigitta's, perhaps some tale of the warfare against their governesses from Louisa, and simply enjoyed that close friendship she had cultivated with Liesl. Beautiful hardly seemed to describe her, had been too weak a word since that day he had first seen her look back to him...and he had found the slightest glimmer of hope in what he had glimpsed. That day, he had truly seen what was in her eyes.

_He had only just escaped from Elsa's lists of guests, her endless questions about caterers, wine and flowers; it was enough to spin his head. The afternoon's warm breeze was as welcome as a new breath, easy and simple after the hours spent buried in the study with Elsa. On the veranda, the slightest shadow had fallen over the pale stone, and the silence that greeted him was entirely unexpected. He had swiftly become accustomed to his children's jovial din—no, more than used to it, he had come to_ enjoy _it._

_Continuing his steps along the veranda, he had been completely unprepared to see Maria seated at the table that was ever there, a book settled in one of her hands, her chin balanced on the other. Her eyes ran from side to side, a distasteful expression on her face that only grew more disgusted. She did not seem to hear his footsteps._

_"Good afternoon, Fräulein," he said lowly, and her face rose from the book._

_"Good afternoon, Captain," she said, lifting her second hand to the book, bringing it down from her eye level._

_"You do know, one might have mistaken you for Brigitta for a moment."_

_Maria smiled, closing the book over her finger. "Perhaps. I borrowed this book"—she lifted the slender volume a bit—"from your library when I was looking for her copy of The Mysterious Island."_

_"Oh?" Finally reaching the opposite side of the table, Georg drew out the empty chair and settled himself down, glancing over the title on the spine. "I would not have believed you to be one for reading Voltaire."_

_"Well..." Her eyes narrowed as she slid her finger from the book. "I had hoped to find a bit of light reading."_

_"Voltaire may be simple in words, Fräulein," Georg said, laughing gently, "but his writing is hardly_ light._"_

_"I think I would have to agree, Captain." She seemed about to speak again, but glanced down to the thin book, then over her shoulder towards the lake, almost appearing confused. "I hardly know what to think of it." Neither spoke for a time after that, for Georg was trying to recall anything of Candide, and failing rather miserably. Yet to merely sit with her and enjoy her company was remedy enough to the time he had passed with Elsa.  
_

_"But please tell me," Georg said, curious though loath to break the silence, "where are the children."_

_"Finishing their school hour," she said, turning her face back to him. "I doubt they can do much damage with only books, notebooks, and pencils, Captain, and the afternoon was too lovely to miss."_

_"I believe I shall have to agree with you...Fräulein."_

Her cheeks had reddened then, as if something other than the children had crossed her mind; he had glanced to his watch for a moment, and when he had caught her gaze again—something deeper had shone in her eyes, something far more wonderful than even the thoughts of his children. It had been that love he could see glowing in her face as she now came nearer, the chattering of the three girls about her hardly reaching his ears.

"Did you finish your business in the dress shop?" he asked, reaching to take her hand as the small group reached him at last.

"I think so," Maria said, smiling as her fiancé leaned in to kiss her cheek. "The last items there should be the final fittings for us all." She paused as Liesl laughed quietly. "Well, the last items for the girls and myself."

"That is certainly welcome news," Georg whispered in her ear, though the quiet was hardly needed; Brigitta and Louisa had run to join Friedrich and Kurt in their card game, and after her small break into giggles, Liesl had seemed to find a determination to bring her youngest siblings under control. "The time is nearing us, my love."

"It is," she said, tightening her fingers in his. "But I suppose we shall endure until then."

Raising her hand to his lips, Georg smiled at the same redness on her cheeks that had so recently filled his mind. "We shall, Maria."


	58. Wondering

**Chapter 58: Wondering**

"So when is the final fitting, Fräulein?" Brigitta asked, twisting her hair band around the bottom of her first braid.

"Oh, some time soon, I hope," Maria said, letting her weight rest against the door frame as she watched the oldest girls prepare for bed. She tried to pull a smile across her face, but even for the girls she had difficulty feigning pleasure.

"It isn't that much," Liesl said, turning back the quilt on her bed. She grinned even as Maria rolled her eyes, and settled her body on the mattress, shaking her hair over her shoulders.

"No, but it does grow tedious after a time." Louisa laughed to herself as she dropped herself to sit on her own bed, crossing her legs beneath her nightdress, and Maria smiled at the girl, the expression not the least bit forced this time. "At least someone agrees with me."

"It will all be worth it, Fräulein," Liesl said, tugging her quilt and sheet over her legs. "And you will look so pretty in your wedding dress."

"I only hope your father will agree," Maria said, rubbing her hands along her arms as a wave of cold air rose over her. "I wouldn't mind being married in this." She gestured to her dress.

"But it doesn't seem right," Brigitta said, scooping her remaining hair into her hand, threading her fingers through the strands. The girl could braid quickly and easily, and soon had the hair twined in another long plait. "You'll only be married once."

"It's only one day, though," Louisa said, twisting around to push the pillows of her bed against her headboard. Straightening them, she let her back fall against the pile. "Why make such a fuss?"

"It's a very _special_ day," Brigitta said, tying her second braid and drawing her feet up onto her bed.

"It's too late to change it now, Fräulein," Liesl said, and her governess nodded even as she sighed. "I think you'll be rather pleased with it all in the end; it will be a wonderful memory."

"I only hope you think so after your wedding," Maria said, standing straight. "But that's enough, girls—it's time you were in bed."

"We _are_ in bed, Fräulein Maria," Louisa said, shifting her legs to pull her quilt and sheet away from her mattress.

In spite of herself, Maria laughed. "You know what I mean."

"Yes, but that's not what you said."

"Very well, then," Maria said, dropping her arms, though she was still a bit cold, "I'll rephrase. It's time you were in bed _and_ trying to get some sleep."

"But it's not that late," Brigitta said, though she had to raise a hand to cover a yawn.

"I never told you that it was," Maria said, opening the door that lead from the girls' room to the hallway. Stepping through, her hand on the switch, she paused, turning to the three girls with a knowing smile. "After all, you don't want to be tired tomorrow, do you?"

"What's going on, Fräulein Maria?" Louisa asked, laying herself down on her bed beneath the layers of her quilt and sheet. "Neither you nor Father will tell us anything!"

"If you go to sleep sooner, then you'll wake up sooner." Her own eyes shone wryly even as Louisa's narrowed and the girl pushed her pillows down once more. "Good night." Her fingers pulled the switch down, dousing the room's light.

"Good night, Fräulein Maria," the girls chorused as the last patch of light from the hallway vanished with the closing of their door; only the moon and the tiny dots of the stars shining through the windows gave the room illumination.

"Liesl," Brigitta said after a moment.

"Hmm?" The eldest girl's voice was already languid, perhaps muffled by her pillows as well.

"What do you think is going to happen tomorrow?" Twisting the end of her braid around a finger, Brigitta pushed herself up on her elbows.

"Probably just something more to do with the wedding." Liesl sighed as she turned onto her side, squinting at her sisters in the darkness. "It is a lot to plan in a very short amount of time. Fräulein Maria is right about _that._"

"But why try to do it so quickly?" Shifting again, Brigitta lay herself flat on her stomach, weaving her fingers together and resting her chin atop her knuckles. "Liesl?"

"I—I'm not sure," the older girl said after a pause. For herself, Liesl believed she understood part of the reason for haste—but her face would burn to share such questions with Louisa, let alone Brigitta. "I suppose Father and Fräulein Maria want us to be a family as quickly as possible."

"Aren't we already?" Louisa asked, yawning through her question and raising a hand over her face.

"I suppose," Liesl said quietly, wrinkling her nose. _I suppose_ was hardly strong enough; _certainly_ seemed the weakest word she might have chosen. "Yes, we are."

"Everything feels so wonderful," Louisa said, pulling her quilt closer. "As though everything is right."

"It is," Brigitta said, falling back onto her mattress as she let her braid drop from her finger. "I don't think anything ever could be more right than our lives are now."

"No." Liesl turned onto her back once more, feeling sleep just at the edge of her mind. "It can't."

* * *

In the drawing room, Georg and Maria sat on the couch, nestled close to one another, his arm holding her close. She still felt chill, and sheltered beside him in the crook of his arm, the warmth of his body against her side was nearly intoxicating. But the girls' questions and words were still in her mind. Such a large wedding, and so little time... "Georg," she said quietly, shifting against his shoulder.

"Yes, love?" he asked, tightening his arm around her. He kissed her cheek gently, smiling as he felt her sigh.

"Do you really think we'll be able to have all this planned in two weeks?" She pressed herself closer to him, tapping the fingers of her free hand against her leg. "Will we have enough time?"

"I think it's a bit late, Maria," Georg said, laughing. "The invitations are already posted, the cathedral is already reserved..."

"But there is still so much to do."

"We'll manage," he said, reaching to cup her chin and turn her face up towards his. Brushing his lips to hers, he lifted his hand to push aside her hair. "Just remember that once the wedding is completed, we shall have weeks to ourselves—look forward to that, instead of worrying about the details."

"I will admit," Maria said, hoping her face did not flush, "I am looking forward to that time."

"So it was not merely myself," Georg said, drawing her close once more. Now, Maria could not hide the color blossoming on her cheeks, but he just laughed gently. "I can see I am now proven correct."

"As much as I am eager to be the children's mother—"

"But you already are," he said, and he frowned as he felt her straighten, her eyes almost confused as she looked to him. "Maria, you've been their mother almost since you first arrived. Since that first night, I'm sure, but maybe even at dinner."

"Dinner?" Raising her hand, Maria yawned; perhaps she should have followed the children to bed. "I can't imagine _that_." Her eyes were still quizzical, and it was easy for him to read what was there, perhaps for any other person as well—she certainly had not believed herself to be their mother until much later, perhaps not even now.

"Had you even mentioned the pine cone they set on your chair, Maria, I doubt I would have punished them." He shook his head. "But you managed to punish them with hardly a word. A punishment they entirely deserved."

"I may be their mother in their eyes, and yours, Georg," Maria said, "and that is all that truly matters to me. But if anyone else would ask, I'm still only their governess, your fiancée, and perhaps something less desirable..." _That_ word she could not speak; it was as poison on her tongue.

"Then that is their talk," Georg said, pulling her close again, pressing his lips against her temple. "And let them talk; it is only foolishness."

"But that they think that about you...about us..." Maria dropped her head onto his should again, and he smiled.

"Let them talk," he said once more, kissing the crown of her head. "Our lives are not their concern. They will forget about us soon enough. But we are stronger than they are, my dear, and what we have will endure more than they can ever imagine."

"I love you," she whispered, tightening her fingers around his, shuddering at the warmth of his body. That this man loved her, that his children loved her as though she were their mother, that he would receive _her_ love in return...such blessings she had never thought to receive from God. _Thank you,_ she thought turning her eyes upward for a moment in unspoken prayer. _Thank you for _all _your blessings, Lord._

"As I love you, Maria," he said as her gaze came to him again, "and I always shall. Love of my life...mother of my children..._our_ children." She smiled, and he lifted her face, bringing her mouth to his own again.

"Just don't leave me," Maria said as she drew back for a breath. To be alone again after finding where she belonged...

"I wouldn't dream of it, my love," he whispered, drawing his fingers from her grasp to wrap his second arm around her shoulder. "Never." And he never could leave her; no matter what would come to them in their life together, she would always have his heart.

THE END


End file.
